for lovers who hesitate

ad astra per aspera 🍎 | 🐦‍⬛ | 🐺 | 🐟 24

[sylvieisoffline]

Sylvie's Wishing Pool

Sylus

1. ) Steamy Interrogation 🔞 (Sylus × MC)

Post by @sylvieisoffline · 4 images

💬 7  🔁 35  ❤️ 452 · Steamy Interrogation · word count: 3k words tags: 🔞 Explicit sexual content / NSFW (18+) MDNI! | Slight Gunplay (used a

2.) Innocent Birdcage's Bad Ending HC 🔞 (Sylus × MC)

Post by @sylvieisoffline · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 8  ❤️ 127 · Saw this pose template on X and came up with a headcanon for the bad ending of Innocent Birdcage word count: 1.2k words

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Caleb

1.) 2000s Horror Video Game Female Protagonist HC (Caleb × MC)

Post by @sylvieisoffline · 24 images

💬 0  🔁 6  ❤️ 51 · My contribution to the "Early 2000s horror video game female protagonist" trend that's been circling around because of thi

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Rafayel

- coming soon

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Xavier

- coming soon

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Zayne

- coming soon

[calebunny]

♡ Tight fit ♡

Here is Valko's version ladies 🤭 (I tagged everyone that enjoyed the last one)

Warnings/Tropes: Explicit, MDNI, Breeding Kink, cumflation, knotting, size difference, overstimulation, DubCon.

Rest of the Li’s here

You had just entered Valko’s research lab, hoping to possibly catch him for a little lunch break together. 

As the door slid shut behind you, you paused to look around. Your eyes were pulled by the various beeping and blinking of the advanced tech surrounding you, but there was no sign of the redhead anywhere. 

“Valko?!” You called out, to no response. Stepping deeper into the facility, you reminded yourself that he had granted you unrestricted access to his equipment, space, and personnel; You figured he certainly wouldn't mind you making yourself at home while you waited. 

Then, a gleam in the corner of your eye drew your attention. You turned to look at it, only to find Valko’s nightprowl suit, all pristine and shiny, displayed in a sleek glass case. A devious idea popped into your head. I meannn, he did say you could use anything you wanted. 

So there you were, drowning in the enormous jacket. You had initially intended to try on the whole suit, but the boots alone proved to be absurdly heavy, tiring your feet after just a few steps. Realizing the rest of the gear would be just as exhausting, you settled for just the overcoat, the one that spanned Valko's entire length, complete with the hood and ear slots. 

You had to admit, though, that it was insanely comfy. The hem of it, which almost hit Valko's feet when he wore it, was now pooling at the floor, acting as a makeshift mop as you walked around the lab. The hood, meanwhile, completely covered your head, and in fact half your face too, the ear pockets flopping around without the usual support Valko’s ears provided. 

You told yourself you'd put it back before he came, but the plush warmth draping over your shoulders made it too easy to delay, until the man himself finally came back into his office. 

Uh oh. You sheepishly turned around to the sound of a door clicking shut, finding Valko standing there with his head tilted and a brow cocked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. Yet, when he caught the full view of you when you turned around, his breath hitched and his eyes darkened imperceptibly. He noticed how small and vulnerable you looked enveloped in his gear, your face caught in a guilty expression with those droopy, puppy-like ears adorning your head.

Obviously, Valko was a werewolf. And he was well aware that this came with certain... wolfish instincts. Yet right now, how intensely territorial he felt towards you surprised even himself, and it took him all his will to not immediately pin your small body up against a wall and shove his dick in you all the way till you were filled with him. 

“Valko– I need a break- hic,” you whimpered breathily, your voice utterly tired from the hours he’d spent dutifully worshipping you and your practically abused hole.

“I know love, just a little bit longer. You’ll hold out for me, won't you?” he cooed. But contrasting with his gentle voice, his pace didn't seem to falter in the slightest. His pupils were blown out to the point where no iris was shown, looking at you draped over one of his desks, entirely naked, the heavy jacket long since discarded on the floor. 

You twitched under his tight grip, stupidly big hands enough to wrap around your waist entirely. You initially already had a hard time adjusting to his cock, taking a long time of him just eating you out before you could even begin to handle it. But what made it worse later on was his goddamn knot.

Every ounce of restraint vanished from him, making you endure round after round of him filling you with his seed, his knot keeping everything inside you. Yet, after a point, even that didn't stop his cum from leaking out. The deranged man almost lost his mind when he saw that, shoving everything back with his dick and fingers, hellbent on breeding you till your womb practically inflated from all that was pumped into you. 

And oh did he love to see it, “ngh- Just so adorable for me aren't you pup,” he said, more to himself than you, shoving his thumb in your mouth, moaning as you immediately sucked on it. “Such a good girl. You’ll let me cum in you again yeah?” 

“W-wait, no more,” you barely managed out. All the pressure inside your cunt was making you dizzy, and you would be kidding yourself if you said you could take any more, but Valko obviously had other plans. 

He moved his hands to let one rub on your clit, while the other, cruelly nonetheless, pushed onto where your belly bulged out. The pressure of it all made you explode yet again, an orgasm crashing through you intensely, your mind blanking out till all you could think of was him and his massive fucking cock. 

Valko smirked, his canines showing through as he took a little advantage of your clouded state. “Please? You want my babies dont you, want me to breed you full till we have a damn litter.” 

He leaned forward to kiss your fucked-out self, the two of you moaning into each other's mouths as you completely lost yourself to the pleasure.  

“Yesyesyesyes I want you val”

taglist: @lanalemonn @hilliserose  @mermaidsmutclub @imsearchingforwords @strawberryphoenix @ultimate-trashy-blog @weirdfreakwency @veras-fanfic-reblogs @myspi2010 @zayneswfie@pearlescenthoney @aliceonice @vaguenebulaee @datfangirl @maaic @litsatl @paint-chips

♡ Bunny's Note: Sorry gng, not even Bunny is immune to writing the wolf with a breeding kink. I know it’s cliché but I couldn't help it, the idea sounded way too hot in my head😣 ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 

[kissandtellus]

Run Rabbit, Run Rabid: Valko

Synopsis: The normal trek to Grandma’s house is always easy. But an unexpected visitor makes the journey so much more dangerous.

Warnings: Non-con, mounting, Monster!fudging, knotting, mentions of death, dark fantasy, mentions of Big Brother Caleb.

A/n: ITS NOT MUCH BUT ITS HONEST WORK!

The forest path to Grandmother’s house was one you knew by heart. It ‘s dirt path winded beneath the gnarled branches of ancient oaks, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves that were slowly changing colors with the season. You had walked it a hundred times before. Your basket had been patched up plenty of times from the weight of jars and fresh bread that had broken it once before.

But today was different.

Caleb stood in the doorway. His own basket of fjrewood was slung over his shoulder. He usually accompanied you on the journey, even though he knew his grandmother would bicker at him about something or the other. But he was the provider for you two. As a lumberjack, hell, the best in the village, it was up to him to keep a roof over your head.

But this journey felt different.

“Take the axe," he insisted again, pressing the worn handle into your hands. His calloused fingers lingered over yours, as if he could press the weight of his strength into you. You could feel his hands shaking. His hands rarely shook.

You laughed and simply waved him off. You adjusted your red cloak, patches where both Grandma and Caleb had sewn it brushed your boots. "Don’t be silly. I’ve walked this path a thousand times. What could possibly happen?" You smoothed out the linen in the basket. “You are simply paranoid.”

His upper lip twitched in a scowl, he looked out of your bedroom window, heavy boots creaking the floorboard. “The woods aren’t safe right now. There’s talk in the village. Something's been stalkin’ the edges, Pips. Paw prints too big for any wolf the men have ever seen.”

You couldn’t help the knot that formed in your throat. You’d heard the tales from the old drunks in town. Scattered animal carcasses, howls so loud they were deafening. But old drunk men told the funniest tales. Your grandmother hadn’t seen you in a week, far longer than you wanted at this point.

But you were always a good little sister. You grabbed the ax, a small thing, but the edge was sharpened by Caleb so much, it could split hairs. You tucked the ax into your basket. “There. Happy?”

Caleb let out a breath of relief , ruffling your hair like he used to when you were a child. "Good. And don’t dawdle. Get to Grandma’s before dusk."

You batted his hand away as you walked through the cabin. You adjusted the red hood on your head. The weather was agreeable at least, as you stepped into the crisp morning air. You waved at Caleb over your shoulder as you left, the tight red plaid clinging to his arms.

What you didn’t see, was the fear clinging to his pupils.

~~~~~

The path to Grandmas was the easy part. What wasn’t easy, was seeing the wreckage of what remained of her cottage.

The remains of your Grandmother’s kitchen told the story. There were overturned chairs, flour dusting the floor like snow. You’d tripped over broken plates, your mouth moving but not a single word falling from your lips. You’d whispered a word. Her name. Her title.

Your shaky legs and the blood trail led you to her bedroom. The door had basically book town from its hinges. Your chest tightened so much you feared that your conscious would slip through your fingers. You braced yourself for the worst.

When you stepped through the shattered threshold, the bed was pristine. The handmade quilt was flat, like she’d made the bed before leaving.

“Grandma…?”

It happened too fast. Your basket clattered to the ground as an unseen force shoved you forward. The wooden bedframe that Caleb had crafted for Grandma, caught your knees. You buckled instantly with a cry of terror.

“S-Stop—!" you choked out, fingers twisting in the sheets. A stronger hand pressed against the hood over your head. Tears and snot sneaked your face as you tried to struggle. Your breath quickened and chest burned from lack of air.

But the real fear started when claws ripped up the edge of your dress. The thin cotton undergarments against your puffy folds clung to the shape of your mound. “Apples…?” A gruff voice from behind scoffed. A sharp claw traced your slit. “Cute.”

Your sob was choked out as the fabric was torn from you. The crisp fall air tingled your flesh. Calloused fingers parted your folds, the hand moved from the back of your head to your lower back. You heard the floorboards creek, before two fingers spread your lower lips. A long, deep inhale that you could feel on your lower extremities made you sob, boots stomping on the floor as you buried your face into the quilt.

“Please no….” You hiccuped.

The voice hushed you, the deep amber slithering into your veins. There was a long, heavy, dripping pressure against your slit, too grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves below. Your back arched, a boot flying back to try and kick the intruder off. But he simply caught it like an annoying fly. His tongue dipped into your hole and you felt your stomach drop.

A groan of satisfaction vibrated your core. The tongue fled from it’s meal, licking upon his lips instead. “Delicious…”

The movements were too fast. There was a rustle of your dress being pushed over your hips further. The hand fisting your hair through the hood. Your legs kicked wildly again, hands reaching back to grab at the wrist pinning you. “Where is she?! Stop!”

You begged. You screamed and pleaded. But the heavy weight of the strangers length rested again your lower back. It made you freeze. It felt…huge. You could feel it pulse against your flesh. A sticky feeling was left behind as he lifted it and slapped it against your body over and over again. Long, thin strands of fluid connected the tip to your back.

“You remain untouched…” the voice grumbled from above. “I can smell it. I almost feared that brute of a brother would’ve soiled your fruit by now.” The growl the stranger gave made your heart stop. He knew Caleb? He knew you?

You tried to turn your head just slightly. From the fading sun from a dirty window, you caught a glimpse of inhuman gold eyes. A catch of dark red hair that seemed to slick back into a dark hood. Your voice was shaky as you spoke. “Just let me go…I promise I won’t tell…”

The man caught your eye over your shoulder. He grinned, and the sharp canines, still dripping in blood, made your heart stop. “Oh Little Red,” he cooed, his free hand guiding the dripping head to your heat. “You have no one else to tell.”

You’d read about this in your fantasy romance novels. Ones that Grandma scolded you for reading and Caleb hid from you. But it was supposed to be sweet. You were supposed to be married on your wedding night. There was supposed to be soft kisses and words and promises of little ones.

But this was brutal.

The first push caught the breath from your lungs. You couldn’t let out anything but a squeak. The massive man pushed the hood off of your head to smooth back the strands amid hair that clung to your flesh from sweat. “Easyyyy Red…let. me. in.”

Each word was accompanied by a thrust further in. Your vision blurred, legs shaking as you feared it would never end. Your mind was hazy even as you couldn’t help but let out whimpers of terror. His length split you apart. Your walls eased open little by little, yet it was still not enough. The man growled, nuzzling the side of your throat when half of his cock remained outside of those sweet walls he wished to know.

“Only half? My poor pup…that’s alright,” another hard thrust had another inch slipping inside. Your empty tummy, not filled with grandma’s pie, felt too full. You stood on your tippy toes over the bed now. To stay flat-footed meant pushing his length even further inside. “I enjoy a chase.”

You’d expected the intruder to take what he wanted with flesh and blood. You perhaps even prayed he would just take your throat out. But it never came. Instead he was patient. Your innocent blood had dried to the inside of your thigh and sweat did the same. It took far too long for an impatient old wolf like himself, yet to be able to inhale your sweet scent for so long was a blessing.

“Atta girl, Red…” he whispered into your shoulder as he finally nestled into your womb. “Alllll in. You feel so-hey shhhh…” he whispered into your ear. You could smell your musk and the coppery scent of blood on his mouth. His cock nestled deep in your stomach. When he pulled out a single inch, you sobbed in absolute terror. It pulled and pushed, like it was taking your insides with it.

Claws pricked your hips as he began to set a rhythm. It was so, yet deep. His encouraging whispers of words turned feral.

“S’ tight, feels like a fresh kill.”

“Smell s’good Red…ah fuck…”

“I’ve been waitin’ too long for this. Too fuckin’-Ngh!…long….”

The bed frame creaked while his thrust grew harder. You had plenty of opportunities to run. You could have grabbed the ax from the basket mere inches away, swung it at his head and been done with it. But your body pooled with a new heat that had your head spinning. Calloused fingers tangled in the back of your cloak. It pulled taunt, the strong knot Caleb had tied around your throat choked you as he yanked.

“N-Ngh!” You gagged.

The voice chuckled, driving into your slick heat harder. “My pretty mate. So eager for it.” His voice dipped off into a rough moan. “I never would’ve let ya leave on that path alone. Didn’t your big brother know that type of beast that lurks in the woods?”

At the mention of Caleb, reality cut through the tingling in your loins. You try to buck off the massive beast, but he…whines in apology, nuzzling y our r neck as he hushes you again. “Shhhh, m’sorry Pup. Easyyyy, just take it. You’re close. S’close…” his fingers dipped between your shaky thighs to rub your clit.

The contact made you cry out, that white heat blooming in your stomach again. “I-I don’t want-“

The hand lifted only to slap your sticky heat. You instantly cried out and clamped around his cock. He growled into your ear, tongue tracing the sweat on the column of your throat. “Behave.”

His fingers were sweet back on your clit again. You felt him thrust harder, your hips knocking the edge of the bed. Your fingers had released his hand, opting to tear into the quilt instead. The fight drained from your body the closer your peak approached.

But you were afraid.

Even with all of the material you had read, you’d never once attempted to touch yourself. Even when the ache had grown so bad, you’d grinded your heat against one of Caleb’s feather-filled pillows, you never reached this point.

“P-please I can’t-!” You whined. “It feels-! It feels-!”

The man simply chuckled. Then…it was like he grew…

The length inside info you seemed to delve deeper. A burning pressure at the base of his cock was growing. You scrambled on the bed, hair disheveled and drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. “Y-you beast!”

Your own voice is cut off by the fingers drawing tighter circles on your swollen clit. He huffed a laugh, the soft “plap, plap, plap!” Filling the ruined cottage. “Don’t stop on my account Red.” The pressure swelled his knot fully, the width catching on your already overstretched hole. “Keep goin’, I’m close.”

Your vision whited-out, body convulsing into pleasure. He took the distraction to pin your hips down, to press his knot justttt that much further and-

You thrashed as it popped inside. The pressure made your poor core gush, mixtures of fluid staining poor Granny’s quilt. The man above you threw his head back, not to moan…but to howl.

As your tummy filled with regret, with fear, with Lycan semen…Valko filled with pride.

And Caleb filled with horrid anger as he stood in the bedroom doorway, axe held high over his head.

Tags: Tag List: @chaemaire @vvi-vi @partypoison00 @l0st1nthedark @boulder @space-trashlordd @hilliserose @rubylescent @joyfulyouthlover @lilacsandhysteria @cheezeandkrackers @zayneslover @slave-of-heaven @ladyanonreader @kiyadeleine @emowitchwithatwist @nixia1107-blog @aishabbbb @lordbugs @poisonivyae @embetie @mock-kett @nanamisgirly @imsaemi @exe-toby @rhickah @slutforsnowcrow423 @kageyaxaa @pumpk1n-gurl @anothergojostan @luvqi @matcha-m0chi @idiotboop @pomegranatesnapples @ajyoursgirl @raendarkfaerie @patchesofwork @diejager @goddessofeverything @paintedperidot @applecaviar @sylusxoxo @braatzz-9 @starsforvia @saltymooninternet @mshaylove @upwillbyers @cupidstrace

[sylvieisoffline]

all these valko smut fics are actually making me soooo happy! i'm having a field day on the tag right now 🤩 keep em coming (🫣) guys!

[sylvieisoffline]

FURTHER ELABORATING THAT I DON'T TOLERATE ANY 6TH LI OR ANY LI HATE HERE!

While I have mains (Valko now being added to that list), I genuinely love all of them, their lores, personalities, and how they tie up to MC's overall story. Let's all be respectful and wait for everything to be smoothened out by July 9.

Also further adding that I'm still very disappointed with the lack of Sylus and Caleb resources up til now. With how long we've been waiting, it is understandable how a lot of baby apples and kittens are disappointed as well. This however doesn't give you a pass to be disrespectful to people who will be enjoying/are enjoying the new LI's release.

Please keep it respectful over here, at the end of the day, it's just a game and we shouldn't be losing our moral compasses over a few pixels.

[sylvieisoffline]

all these valko smut fics are actually making me soooo happy! i'm having a field day on the tag right now 🤩 keep em coming (🫣) guys!

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Sisterly Duties

You're a fool to think you can get out of your duties to your little brother just because he got a girlfriend. cw: pseudo!incest, didi caleb/jiejie mc, mean caleb, ?free use, fingering, fucking from behind, cumming inside, cheating (not on mc), dead dove don't eat, DUB!CON/NON!CON

The kitchen feels warm, even in just your light leggings and tank top. Sweat trickles down your neck and under your top, staining it as you stand at the counter chopping herbs. When you’re finished, you toss them into the pot, then wipe the dampness from your neck with the back of your hand.

You’re not usually the one who cooks out of the two of you, but with Caleb and his girlfriend visiting Linkon, you can’t exactly make him cook. Well, you would have if they were staying over, but you didn’t offer up your house this time… not after what happened last time.

You glance at the clock, wondering if you could sneak in a quick five-minute shower before he arrives. But just as the thought crosses your mind, the front door opens. You let out a soft sigh. So much for that shower. You’ll just have to go after he leaves.

Earlier, you’d asked Caleb to run and get you some missing ingredients you’d stupidly forgotten. You would have gotten them yourself but you couldn’t leave the food unattended after you’d already started cooking. 

Caleb steps into the kitchen with a paper bag in one hand. “Here you go, jiejie. Got everything you asked for. Even bought that fancy wine you like.”

“Oh, thank you, didi. I don’t know what I would have done without you. The night would have been ruined.” You take the bag from him and lean up to press a quick peck to his waiting cheek. “But you didn’t have to trouble yourself with the wine.” 

“Wanted to.” He shrugs, and gives you a boyish grin. “After all, it’s not every day that my spoiled big sister decides to cook for me.”

“I’m not cooking for you, you brat. I’m cooking for your girlfriend.” You poke your tongue out at him, and he laughs brightly. “You’re already switching up on me? I thought you didn’t know what you’d do without me?” 

“Maybe it’s time I found out.” You tease, turning back to the stove. “Now run off and get yourself and your girlfriend ready for dinner.”

“We still have time. I can stay for a bit.” He says, and there is an ever so slight change in his tone that gives you pause for a second before you go back to what you were doing. 

“Do you need help?” Caleb wanders closer, peering over your shoulder at the bubbling pot, and you throw him back a smile. “Nope. You’ve done enough. You don’t have to stay. I’ve got it all handled.”

He ignores you, stepping right up behind you until his chest brushes your back. “Surely that’s not right.” He hums, breath warm against your ear. “My big sister is preparing this nice dinner for us… At least let me keep you company.”

You roll your eyes, even as you feel your body stiffening up. “Whatever.”

His arms slide around your waist, pulling you back against him in a tight hug. “Hmm… smells good.”

“It’s your favorite dish.” You say hoarsely as his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck. “Yeah… it is.”

You clear your throat. “How has work been treating you? Are you sleeping well? Getting enough rest? Any big missions coming up?” You blabber, your last question choked out as one of his hands drifts slowly down your front.

Caleb chuckles, the sound vibrating from his chest into your back. “Couple of missions next week, nothing too intense. After that, I’ll have some time off.” His voice is sweet as his fingers play with the waistband of your leggings. “Girlfriend’s been talking about taking a weekend trip to some cabin up north. She thinks it’ll be romantic.”

“That sounds nice.” You manage, mouth dry as you shift in his tight embrace, the anxious energy making you squirm against him immediately snuffed out when you feel his hard length poking against your ass. 

“Mm, yeah. She’s been really excited about it.” His hand slips inside your pants, warm palm pressing over your underwear first, then sliding beneath the fabric. You bite your lip and grip the edge of the counter. “She seems good for you.”

Caleb hums, circling your clit in lazy strokes. “She is sweet.” His voice stays perfectly casual, as his fingers play with your pussy, and when they dip down to gather the unbidden wetness weeping from your hole, you jerk, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Easy.” He chuckles, nudging your legs apart with his knee. “Clumsy jiejie.”

“Caleb, honey… time’s running out.” You say, voice strained as you clutch the counter tighter. “You gotta go pick up your girlfriend.”

“Hmm… in a bit. She texted earlier saying she might be a little late. ” He grunts, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “We got time.”

Still, he withdraws his hand anyway and you let out a sigh of relief. But it’s short-lived, quickly replaced by dread as hooks his fingers into your pants and underwear, shoving them down just past your hips. You hear the sound of him spitting into his hand before he presses it between your asscheeks, rubbing the spit around your entrance for a second then sinking two thick fingers into your pussy. The sudden stretch stings, but you’re no stranger to the pain. Your little brother has put you through worse. 

“She wants me to meet her family properly soon, you know.” He continues, his voice growing huskier as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them to force you open. “Thinks we’re getting serious.”

Dread bubbles in your chest and your pussy tightens around his fingers as you hear the sound of a zipper being undone.  Then you feel the hot press of his cock against your ass, the tip smearing precum as he rubs it over your skin.

“Yeah?” You whisper, barely able to focus on the conversation. “That’s good, didi. I’m happy for you two.”

“Are you now?” Caleb scoffs, withdrawing his fingers from you and your heart rate spikes up. You know what comes next. 

“The food is almost ready.” You speak up quickly, “You should go pick her up now or you’ll be late and the food will get cold.”

“Don’t worry, traffic’s light this time of evening.” He brushes you off, lining his cock up with your pussy from behind. Before you could protest again, he pushes inside you in one harsh thrust.

Your eyes squeeze shut, a broken whimper slipping past your lips as he forces you open on his cock. He’s always been big, and no matter how many times he does this to you, your body never quite gets used to the stretch. You feel every inch, every vein, as he sinks deep until his hips are flush against your ass, buried inside you to the hilt.

“I won’t let your effort go to waste, jiejie.” He promises, voice already a little shaky. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as he starts moving in deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. Your pants and underwear are still bunched around your thighs, trapping your legs and making you feel even more exposed and helpless.

Caleb leans back slightly, one hand leaving your hip before you hear the soft click of his phone unlocking, followed by the unmistakable sound of the camera shutter.

It's not the first time he's done this. His phone is filled with hundreds of pictures of you going back years. 

“Just a little keepsake.” He whispers cheekily, “For when I’m missing my favorite girl.”

You don’t say anything as he puts his phone away and leans over your again, chest pressing flush to your back, caging you against the counter. It’s always better to let him do whatever he wants. Makes it go quicker. 

“Fuck… you feel so good.” He groans, the words slipping out between thrusts. His breath comes out hotter now as his pace picks up, rocking you forward with every snap of his hips. “So tight for me… even when you’re pretending you don’t want it.”

You bite down hard on your lip to keep your mouth shut. Just let him say what he wants. Don’t contradict him. Be nice and quiet and this will be over soon. You repeat those words in your head like a mantra. They’ve gotten you through so much worse. 

But Caleb isn’t satisfied with your quiet surrender today. One of his hands slides up under your tank top to squeeze your breasts roughly, while the other slips between your legs, playing with your little clit the way he has mastered over the years. 

“Right now, she’s probably back home trying to pick out a nice dress to impress her boyfriend’s big sister, all while you’ve got me balls deep in your tight pussy.” He pants, mouthing at your neck in wet, stinging kisses. You’ll have to wear a high collar tonight. It’s okay. You’ve got a collection of them thanks to your didi who is fucking you more roughly now, his pace turning punishing at your continued silence. “You like that, don’t you? Like proving who I really belong to.”

You shake your head despite yourself, and immediately regret it. You know better than this. 

Caleb’s hand fists in your hair and yanks your head back. “Don't lie to me. Look at what you're wearing. You wanted it.”

You let out a helpless mewl. You know you should've changed. You're such an idiot. 

You bite down on your tongue, tasting blood as you hold back from shaking your head again. He scoffs, driving into you harshly, making your knees buckle as the strength goes out of your body. He catches you easily, arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up as he drives into you faster, and angles his hips to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. 

“Still won't admit it? You like to pretend I'm taking you against your will? Is that what turns you on, sister? I can feel how wet you are around me, dripping down my balls.” He mocks and you wish he would just cum already. Why is he being so cruel today? “But it hurts my ego, jiejie. Hmm… maybe I should cancel that weekend trip and spend it with you instead. We won’t go anywhere, just stay here and I can fuck you on every surface of this damn apartment until you admit it. How does that sound, jie?” 

You panic. “No, Caleb. We had a deal, remember, baby?”

“I remember. Do you?” He asks gruffly, hips still snapping into you. “You were supposed to let me visit once a week, but you kept cancelling. Wouldn’t even answer my calls or texts. I almost called the whole thing off.”

So this is what it’s about.

“No, no, I’m sorry.” You whimper. “I was just busy—”

You weren’t. You had hoped that now that he got a longterm girlfriend that you can finally start to wean him off his sick fixation on you. Clearly, it was too soon. 

“Liar.” He whines, suddenly sounding like your precious little brother that you’d do anything for. Anything. Even let him cross a line that should never be crossed between siblings. “You were being a bad jiejie. Trying to get out of your duties to your little brother.” 

“I’m sorry, baby. Sorry for being bad. I won't neglect you again, I promise.” You choke out, your pussy burning from the rough way he’s treating you. Luckily, you know how to push him over the edge and end it. “I missed you, baby… I missed your cock inside me. Please, won’t you cum inside jiejie and fill her up?”

His hips stutter.

“Yeah?” He groans, leaning over you, breath hot against your ear. “You want it, jie?”

“Yes, baby.” You moan, giving him exactly what he craves. “I want to take care of you. Let go for your big sister.”

“Okay, jiejie.” He whimpers, “Whatever you want. Gonna give it all to you.” 

Caleb’s thrusts grow erratic, his hips snapping against your ass desperately, until finally he buries himself deep one last time, his grip on your waist tightening painfully as a loud groan tears from his throat

“Fuck, take it. Take every drop.” He rasps against your ear.

You feet the hot, thick pulse of his cock as he comes inside you, rope after rope of warm cum flooding your pussy. Your walls flutter around him helplessly, your own orgasm hovering just out of reach, leaving you trembling and needy, but you’re not going to ask him for release.

“Fuck, I love you, jie.” He moans, turning your head to the side and slotting his lips against yours, his tongue pushing past your lips. You let him kiss you, drooling into your mouth as he grinds against your ass, his cock hardening again inside you. 

“Baby… baby, the dinner.” You plead desperately against his mouth and he grunts in dissatisfaction, biting down on your bottom lip punishingly. You flinch back with a hiss of pain, feeling a warm drop of blood trickling down your chin. His eyes fixate on it, pupils blown wide as he leans in and licks it away, groaning at the taste, his cock twitching inside your cum-filled pussy.

“Caleb.” You repeat, trying to sound firm but your voice comes out shaky. You know you can’t let him lose himself again. 

He huffs in frustration but finally pulls out. The wet, obscene sound of his cock leaving your soaked hole makes your cheeks burn with shame, as does the maddening emptiness it leaves inside you. You barely have a second to steady yourself before he yanks your underwear and leggings back up your thighs, tugging them into place haphazardly. The fabric presses tight against your dripping pussy, trapping his warm cum inside.

“Don’t shower, okay?” He tells you, voice still rough from his climax as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips up. “Keep it all inside you.”

You balk, eyes widening in horror. “I can’t sit across from your girlfriend like this!”

Caleb turns you around and pins you against the cabinet with his body, one hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He has a serene smile on his face, but his beautiful sunset eyes are dark and stormy, and it makes your heart ache. Oh, how you’d give anything to bring sunshine back into his eyes. 

“You will.” He says, thumb tracing your swollen bottom lip. “Because you’re the one who wants this little show to continue.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he pushes his thumb between your lips, pressing down on your tongue to silence you.

“After we have dinner and I go to drop her off, you will wait for me in your bed. You can pretend to be asleep all you want, but that won't stop me. And if I come back and find you’d cleaned up…” His voice drops low, and you shiver. “I’ll send her the pictures of you stuffed full of my cock.”

Your stomach turns with dread, and you stand there paralysed as he pulls his thumb from your mouth and replaces it with his tongue, more gentle this time. When he pulls back, his voice is soft again.

“Be good for me tonight, okay? You’ve got a lot to make up to me, jie.” He brushes his wet thumb across your cheek, then flashes you a sweet smile when you nod obediently. 

“See you soon, jie.” He presses one last soft peck to your lips before he turns and walks away. The front door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing alone in your kitchen, pants still slightly crooked, thighs pressed together, and your brother’s cum slowly seeping out of your aching pussy.

a/n: sorry guys the next chapter of Yes, Baby is taking a little bit of time. i've just moved house and then my cat got sick and things have been really hectic so here is something to tide you over. Also been reading flowers in the attic and i am hooked lol if anyone read it your girl wants to talk taglist for all my caleb fics: @mcdepressed290, @monoidmango, @seraphineash, @lewdcifer778, @strayy-kidz, @virtualdonutcashdeputy, @airachniide, @deceptive-solitude, @mimiluvzu2, @smmnlz, @secretarykitten, @fukyachickennuggets-blog, @joannafaustus, @rose3heartzzz, @unadulteratedtranquility, @pixiu-palindrome, @iwillstealyouruwus, @lilkittenskiss, @remnantsofgildedcages, @cinnabean3, @pookiei-bookie, @cembreeee, @ariapok, @bypanana

[sylvieisoffline]

HOLY DIDI CALEB?!

[hunterxkat]

sleepy sex with caleb

caleb/reader (you)

tags: nipple play, slight asphyxiation, creampie

✯¸.•´¨*•✿ ✿•*¨`•.¸✯ ✯¸.•´¨*•✿ ✿•*¨`•.¸✯✯¸.•´¨*•✿ ✿•*¨`•.¸✯ ✯¸.•´¨*•✿

It was already 1am, but you couldn't help yourself. Caleb was half asleep, but you were wide-eyed in the dark. Your imagination was getting the better of you and it was starting to consume you. Caleb told you before that it was alright to touch him when he slept, so your hands don't hesitate when they reach down to Caleb's softened member under his briefs, squeezing until he hardens under your ministrations.

"Pipsqueak," he mutters, eyes half shut. Even sleepy, you knew he wouldn't say no to you. "What are you doing? Do you want it?"

It. Of course you did. You nod back vehemently, and though he can't see you in the nighttime, you know he can hear the rustling of the sheets. He understands. He leans closer to you, leaving the domain of his side of the bed to invade into the space of your pillow. His lips find yours and the kiss is warm and wholehearted. His warm hand reaches out to you under the blankets. They slide under your shirt where his skin warms up your belly before he's reaching higher, up to your breasts, and squeezes the mounds of flesh. You relax as he massages you but suddenly tense when he grazes your nipple. He lightly pulls and rubs at one before moving onto the other. You help him by lifting your shirt up. When he spreads his fingers and grazes both of your nipples at the same time, you can't help the long, low moan you release into his mouth.

"You like that?" he says softly, eyes still shut. His breath is heavy against your lips. He feels soft and cozy next to you, but the movement of his fingers across your chest feels like sin. They spark pleasure up your spine and make it difficult to concentrate on kissing. He asked if you liked that, but you know answering is useless; it's rhetorical because he already knows the answer from the way you're shuddering, by how you're struggling to keep your lips on his since you can barely catch your breath. Your chest has always been your weak spot and Caleb loves to exploit it.

Not one to be selfish, you want Caleb to feel good too. So you stroke him again until you feel a bead of precum well up. You spread his precum across the entire head before stroking the shaft again. He swells under your hand, so erect that the foreskin stays peeled back. When he sharply pulls on one of your nipples, the cry he elicits from you seems to trigger something in him. His cock wells up with fluid again, and his breathing against your lips grows heavier. When you slip your tongue into his mouth, searching for his, his breathing roughens before he takes over to dominate the kiss.

Yes, you think. You've managed to rile him up and you moan to let him know of your receptivity.

Every time his fingers brush against both your nipples simultaneously, you feel yourself growing wetter in your underwear. Unable to take it any longer, you let go of his member only to slip your hand under your own waistband to furiously pleasure yourself. Caleb's disappointed by the loss of contact but hums in approval when he realizes what you're doing.

He detaches his lips from yours. Instead, he cups and squeezes one of your breasts before tilting his head down to suck on them. You whine when his teeth graze against the sensitive nub. They harden under his touch, even more so as his tongue laves against the skin, as he engulfs on them as if trying to draw milk out. He moves from one to the other before returning again. Your fingers are relentless where you're pleasuring yourself. The soft sounds Caleb makes as he has his way with you, the way electricity runs up your spine, it's all too much. Your toes curl into the sheets as your muscles tighten and you fall over the edge, your breath knocked out of your lungs.

Suddenly, you're much too sensitive. Each touch becomes almost painful and you push Caleb's mouth away.

"Please," you whisper. "I can't take it." He obliges, his head falling back against his own pillow again. Your body is still buzzing from your release, but you reach out for Caleb's cock again. This time, his entire member is soaked. Just from sucking on your breasts.

You coat his shaft with the fluids and listen to the gasps he makes. Without warning, you urge him to take off his briefs then rearrange yourself so you face where he's tumescent. You swallow him into your mouth and undulate your head. You can't see his expression, but you imagine it: eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape, face slack.

He runs fingers through your hair, trying to push back the strands so they're not in your face. He's salty and his body scent is slightly sweet. You bob your head as his sticky fluids coat your mouth. You even run your tongue over the wrinkled skin of his balls and feel them tighten up. Your hand caresses the shaft while you do this, even wrapping the palm of your hand over the slick head. Caleb practically curls in on himself when you do this, the tip too overstimulated. You only release him when he tugs harshly at your hair. Stars are swimming in his vision.

"C'mere," he says, breathless. He draws you back up and onto him so you're straddling his middle. He reaches under you, pulling aside your underwear and lining himself up. Slowly, you sink down. It's been awhile since you two have done this. His cock is stretching you open and you relish in the sensation of the intrusion. Once fully seated, you lean down for a quick kiss as you get used to his size. You rise up and start bouncing, feet planted firmly on the mattress, hands against his chest for leverage. When he tries to touch your breasts again, you whine in disapproval; your chest is too overstimulated now, nipples so stiff that it's bordering on pain. You redirect his hand down to your clit instead, and arch your back as he rubs your bud.

You never can manage to be in this position for long, so when he senses your tiredness, Caleb rolls you off him. Despite his drowsiness, he pulls you to the edge of the bed until your legs dangle off. He positions himself between your legs, aligns his member, and pushes in.

You don't make a sound as he starts thrusting, but your eyes are closed, savoring the movements and touch. You bite your lip so hard it leaves a bite-shaped indent.

Perhaps Caleb thinks your silentness is an inimical sign, so he lifts your legs until your ankles are on his shoulders. He pushes your thighs together and starts grinding deep into you, repeatedly pushing hips against hips until it feels like he's splitting you open. You can't help moaning at the pleasurable pain.

Relief washes over Caleb when sound finally leaves your lips. He wants to hear you coming apart for him, after all. For good measure, he grinds desperately into you unceasingly, angling his hips differently each time he presses in. You swear his tip is abusing the opening of your womb, pushing against your cervix like as if he's seeking entrance. He keeps it up until you're practically crying.

Finally, he draws your legs apart again and holds onto the back of your knees, bending your legs into your chest. He pistons his hips, dragging loud, sharp wails out of you. It's not enough for Caleb though. You got him all riled up and if he can't see your melting expressions in the dark, he at least wants to hear you and he wants to hear you loud. So he does what he knows you love.

His hands move away from your bent legs and reaches up to your throat. One hand on either side, fingers curling around you. He doesn't press down hard, just enough to put pressure on your windpipe, to show you who's boss. And you trust Caleb so wholly—trust that he'd never actually harm you—that the pressure cascades utter pleasure through you instead of fear. He holds you for leverage as he wildly jackhammers.

Your gasps are sharper and breathier from the lack of air and the occasional moans you emit are cut out each time he presses his fingers down a little harder. Every single sound you make is music to his ears.

At some point, it gets too much for you and you can't control how your cunt clamps down on him. Your muscles tighten around his cock so intensely that if you both weren't so wet and leaking for the other that Caleb wouldn't even be able to thrust any further. You squeeze around his cock until it feels like he's the one who's being choked.

Finally, his breath begins to stutter before his hips do. He lets go of your neck to grip your hips instead in a bruising hold, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your pelvis.

"Fuck," he swears, "I'm gonna cum."

You nod and whine in approval. Your hand moves down to rub against your own clit.

"Shit," he wheezes. "Are you touching yourself?"

You don't answer him because soon after, he lets out a choked sound and stills. His cock pulses against your walls as he releases ropes inside you. Even in his daze, he takes over for you. His thumb rubs against your clit over and over, and when you reach your second climax, you wrap your legs around him to pull him hither as your walls constrict his member. This movement collapses him over you, his body completely spent. When his cock softens and slips out, you feel his fingers push his release back into you, so a part of him remains inside you always. It's perverse, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[sylvieisoffline]

so so good i lost the words to praise it so here are some pics

[northnr]

caleb gets sooo fucking noisy n desperate when he finally fucks you

you can barely breathe but this man is reciting poems he made twelve years ago while he pounds you to the mattress. he's delirious with affection. your pussy makes him conqeur heaven's worship songs.

"mm—hngh, meimei," he gasps, calebs grip on your waist tight. "y-you're so tight... hahh, around me. did you wait for gege to f-finally take your virginity?"

he's making himself crazy with the very idea that you love him as much he does you. it's driving him mad.

"made gege wait. b-but it's okay.. now gege can use your pretty p-pussy as his personal fuckin' sleeve."

"yeah, meimei. squeeze that pussy for me. t-take my fuckin' cock—oh god..!" he thumbs your clit just how you like it.

"so wet.. so fuckin' wet, meimei. i-is gege's cock too big? is it bullying y-you're pretty... womb?"

you're getting dizzy with each thrust. the cock slides so deep inside of you that it feels like it's knocking against your cervix. he has his chest to yours and his hips slamming down like he's trynna get you knocked up—

and that's what he wants anyways. "g-get pregnant, get pregnant, get pregnant—pleasepleasepleaseplease meimei..!"

caleb whimpers as he comes inside of you. a long drawn out moan is pulled outta him as he buries his seed so deep. he has no plan in letting a single drop leak out

[syluses]

house of cards

summary. with all the time apart, spending the new years with caleb sounds like a great idea.

pairing. caleb x reader

cw. pseudocest (gege/foster brother), nsfw, dubcon, smut, guilt, obsessive/possessive behaviors, gideon makes a cameo because i love him, possibly inaccurate cultural portrayals (chinese new years) (sorry in advance) 18+ viewer discretion is advised + this is dark content

note. ummm like a week late, but happy new years!! first oneshot in a hot minute! thanks for the patience yall :,) 🧡 now i don’t wanna hear ANY rigaramoo about me being an unreliable writer….. ya girl is trying to be more consistent i swear! 😭 hope u enjoy this lil thing that’s been in the works for MONTHS and conveniently synced with new years haha. btw this is like 9k~ words so buckle up. title inspired by radiohead song. pls ignore mistakes

Anxious isn’t the word for it.

No… Thirty minutes from your brother’s place, you think it’s more of excitement and less of unease that’s got your heart fluttering in your chest, palms sticking on the wheel.

Anxious is not the word for it.

In the backseat, your little one pokes at the other and squeals, but she- Summer, your girl, two years older than him and a bit of a diva- isn’t having it. She calls your name to tattle.

“Mommy! He keeps pulling my hair!”

A forbearing sigh on your end, and a brief glance sent to the rearview mirror to quickly survey whether or not she’s telling the truth. You can’t risk a full-on turn behind you now what with this traffic, but one look tells you what you need to know:

Your youngest is misbehaving.

Predictable. And… cute, in a way, that despite all his unintentional (mostly, at least) pestering, he’ll still follow her everywhere, stuck to her side no different than a lost puppy.

It reminds you of something.

Better times... Perhaps not for your life as a whole, but for a relationship long left in the dust of your adolescence.

“Skye- leave your sister alone,” you scold from the front, tone motherly but firm. With a hint of exasperation, perhaps, but being on the road for three hours unbroken, with young children in the back, will do that to anyone.

“But Summer, be more patient, okay?” You add with a honeyed drawl.

She moans, practically withering in her tiny, elevated booster seat, “I want the Ipaaaad!” A no-go, because you already let the pair have too much screen time today and you won’t budge now, especially when you’re in the home stretch.

“Are we almost there?!” She whines before you can let her down easy. Such a smart thing she is, that she can spot your lecture to come and nip it in the bud.

A faint smile tugs at your lips. You hum. “Yes, baby, just hold on a little bit longer for mommy, okay? Once we get there,” you start, and God only knows the reason for your hesitance, why it takes an extra second or two to settle on the title, darting your tongue out to soothe where you’ve been nibbling on your lip, but it does.

“Uncle Caleb will have a nice, fancy dinner for us... You remember his house still, don’t you?”

You risk a loving glance in the mirror once more, quietly hoping it’ll encourage some patience on her side. They can be so high maintenance at times, and you pray this isn’t one of them.

You love your children and wouldn’t trade them for the world, don’t get that wrong, but caring for them- managing their each individual needs while also assuring you don’t coddle them too much- is taxing at best.

It’s why having some help- your attentive, considerate brother’s help- will do you good this New Years.

Should everything go well, anyway. And… And it will.

Why wouldn’t it?

The past is the past.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway, but the mantra, for as short as it is, is somehow not sticking. Truth be told, the better piece of you is incredibly thrilled to see your older brother again (foster, brother, something in a recess of your brain clarifies)- 25 or not, you don’t think you’ll ever quite retire from that girlish excitement.

But another piece is, with all its might, resisting. Saying to turn back and go home.

And home— that place you made far from him. A deliberate decision made with both rue and determination.

The distance from your family was as heart wrenching as it was necessary. You wouldn’t have done it otherwise.

Summer perks up, and that thing that’s been gnawing at your insides like a chewtoy is temporarily quelled, even if only for the next few moments.

She laughs, her brother kicking his dangling feet with innocent delight as memories of their last visit- a thrilling escapade to their amazing Uncle Caleb’s place- flood in.

“Yes, yes!” She beams, her little sibling joining in with hollers of his own, and you can’t help but laugh along as their joy fills the den of the car.

She turns to Skye, giggling as she peers into his wide eyes, “We’re gonna see Uncle Caleb’s big big house again! And his new puppy!”

“A pup-py!”

What wouldn’t you do to see them happy?

✦

The puppy is too young to be on guard.

Coming in through the front door, he yips at your feet- but only out of the desire to be held.

Summer immediately coos at it. It’s a little Samoyed with a red collar, barely more than a ball of white floof as his tail slices the air behind him, but as you lower Skye from your arms, your eyes remain fixated on the man before you.

In that moment, seeing him again, there’s no distractions to be had, adorable pet begging for your attention or not.

At first, there’s no words. Just… silence, almost to the point of being awkward.

The brunet processes you, cataloguing everything he sees while scouring your face in a breath.

All the while, you do the same.

His shoulders are just as broad, if not a little tense. His brown hair is neatly swept to the side. You briefly wonder if he actually took advantage of that gel you’d always kept under the sink- back at Gran’s, anyway- and you resist the urge to ask him what’s so special the occasion. Maybe a piece of you already knows.

Violet eyes, warm as ever, ripple as they drink you in.

You: a little windswept, with flakes of snow in your lashes, melting at their leisure and blurring the sight of him. Not enough to miss the kilowatt grin that lights up his face, though.

How long has it been, again?

Whatever the answer might be, it doesn’t matter.

Your world narrows down to him, the way he’s looking at you.

You’ve no time to wonder if the joy is mutual, because as soon as he closes the door behind you and your limbs are no longer otherwise occupied by a small child, he pulls you into a hug.

It’s just as you remember it, with his telltale scent of fresh laundry and cinnamon (in a word, comforting). His strong, lean arms. You think there’s an extra bit of bulk to his triceps, but the weight is healthy.

He noses into your hair, breathing you in like it’s not been a year since he’s seen you but rather an eon.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and you’re glad it’s muffled into your temple because the kids are still at your leg, doting on the puppy. You scold him for it anyway, thankful for the excuse to apply some distance as you pull back and laugh.

“No cussing, Caleb,” you murmur just loud enough for him to hear.

In lieu of a real response- or a playful jab back- he answers you in the same, hushed tone, brushing away an unruly lock with a tenderness that makes your heart wallop in your chest.

“I missed you,” he dazedly says.

In the wake of his earnest confession, butterflies draw their wings within your belly.

And recognizing them, quietly knowing that shouldn’t be the reaction your foster brother elicits from you, doesn’t stop it from happening anyway.

“Missed you, too,” you recover- and then he’s wrapping you up again.

While he’s stooped over and embracing you like his life depends on it, you feel the tension in his built shoulders, the stiff muscles. Burrowing your head to his chest, you listen to where his heart lies hammering.

He’s warm.

Even more so now that you’re spared the February cold outside, the howling winds no more than an afterthought.

“How was your trip?” He suddenly asks overhead, probably realizing the standard platitudes are in order. As they roll in, he means them. “Nothin’ went wrong?”

One hand cradles the back of your head while the other rests around your middle, lassoing you impossibly closer. With a soft, wry huff, you prepare to endure one of his lectures. “Nothing went wrong,” you reassure, choosing the more patient route (because you know how he can get) as you give his back a small, soothing rub.

“Don’t worry. The trip was nice. The kids got a little fussy towards the end, but… it wasn’t anything their IPad couldn’t handle.” He leans back an inch, just enough to stare at you and raise a playful, questioning brow, grinning ear to ear and helpless to control it.

“Ah,” he drawls curiously, “I see… So you’re one of those parents, huh?”

“Oh, be quiet. When you have kids one day, you’ll realize how difficult it can be, too. Besides,” you add on, carefully averting your gaze as his becomes a despondent thing that makes you feel terribly uncertain for the split second it’s there.

“It’s not like I just leave them to a device for hours unattended,” you continue. He looks to you again. “I only let them have a little bit of screen time- and I let them watch movies in the car only because I didn’t want them to die of boredom. It’s not an easy trip, you know.”

He pats your head, humming. The onset of a whine is cut short when you realize he’s not ruffling your hair per usual- like he did way back then- but rather fixing the melted clumps in it.

“Suuuure,” he smiles like it’s the easiest thing ever. And maybe it is, maybe he’s willed himself into forgetting, too, “Save the excuses for later, Pipsqueak, kay? Let’s get you inside for now. You can take a shower and wear my PJs, just for tonight. I’ll get the rest of your suitcases first thing in the morning, yeah?”

The parroted ‘yeah’ on the tip of your tongue shrivels as soon as Summer barrels by, knocking into you and Caleb and hollering for his attention now that her introduction to his pet has been complete.

“Uncle Caweb!”

Flailing his arms, Skye follows suit, waddling in with grabby hands and a shriek.

Caleb lets out a warm chuckle, happy to oblige.

“Well, well, well, look who it is... Finally payin’ your Uncle Caleb some attention, huh? You squirts have grown pret-ty big since the last time I saw you,” he muses, “Guess your mama just needs to drop by more.”

He lifts them both in one fell swoop to their sheer delights. And maybe it’s just accidental, something done out of lack of thought or the mere fact that it’s late and your tired from travel, but your eyes rake over him as he cheerfully twirls them around.

The two of them erupt with laughter, clinging to him and pinching his face- booping his nose- and God should smite you as your mind falls to the gutter in a moment of solitude.

You blink, and all those summer nights you’d spent with him in his bedroom, his limbs tangled with yours as he lazily kissed you, murmuring your name to the sound of the whirring, cheap fan on the floor, pour in with a vengeance— unbidden and so, so vivid.

“I love you, always. So much.”

“But Caleb- I still just… What about Gran?”

A furrow of his brow. The tranquility on his face shattered by a mention. “What about her? I told you, you don’t have to worry about her- about anyone. It’s just me and you. I’ll… figure it out for us, kay? But you and me? We will always,” he emphasizes, long, slim fingers roving over your cheek, mapping it out meticulously.

“Belong to each other.”

You wring your hands at your front, as if that could will them all away.

A shaky sigh slips past your lips. You turn away, toeing off your boots, mentally chiding yourself even if the thoughts were intrusive, beyond your control and nothing more.

While he’s swept up with the reunion with the kids, genuinely just as thrilled to see them (something your ex-husband could never quite nail the act for), you flit over towards the living room and unravel the scarf from your neck, lowering your personal bag.

The bare necessities are in there: your and the kids’ toothbrushes, a charger and your phone and the like, but everything else, the bulk of your luggage, is in the trunk. A job reserved for Caleb, apparently.

The home is large, even more so considering its one inhabitant. You’re proud of him, though, really. He’s done well for himself.

As the moment of peace presents itself, after such a hectic day, you’re happy to take it, allowing yourself to simply… come down.

Something delightful wafts in from another corridor, and it’s right then that you realize just how hungry you are. Sun setting or not- you’re happy to pretend it’s still time for dinner.

Your window of peace (or reprieve after the chaos that is traveling with small children) isn’t here to stay, though- because as Caleb trails you in, a callous hand isn’t long from settling on your waist.

The little quaver in your voice is because of fatigue. Nothing more.

“A-Already tired of your niece and nephew?”

Caleb chuckles, “Never,” Tugging you toward his chest once more. You don’t fight him off. Frankly, you’re too exhausted to even think of doing so.

“Where are they anyway?” He silences your ask with a peck to the crown of your forehead, and it’s only a smidgen difficult to pretend the thing stirring in your gut isn’t romantic in nature as he rocks you on his heels.

No, no- you’re both… Fine like this. It’s fine.

That was a long time ago, after all. Things have, across your respective timelines, fortunately come into play and intervened, meaning that whatever juvenile thing you shared long ago holds no further revelance. None.

You’d went one way, and although there was a bit of resistance at first- oh, plenty- he ultimately went the other. I mean, last you heard, Gideon was introducing him to a nice girl. If that’s not proof of progress, what is?

“Relax, Pipsqueak. Turn off your mother hen instincts for the week. You’ve got me here to lend a hand now, and I intend to do just that,” he whispers, a stroke against the shell of your ear. You swallow, nodding.

You lean away again- for as much as he’ll allow, anyway. “And what about that welcome meal you promised?”

He smiles, rubbing your back thoughtlessly, “Mhm, already on it. Don’t you smell it? Tempting, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Will it be finished by the time I’m done showering?”

If you didn’t know any better, Caleb has something he wants to say on that subject, but he apparently thinks better of it. His violet, glittering eyes flit down and away, his thumb caressing your shoulder as he huffs to himself.

“Something funny?” A wrinkle appears between your brow.

“Nope,” he says, matching your stare with unrivaled joy, making something in your heart flip in the process. Why your old partner could never look at you with such love and adoration, you never quite figured it out, but there’s no point in dwelling on the past.

None at all.

“It depends, though…” he answers, kind of snarky, kind of light. It makes you hold your breath. Does he hang on your every word too? you briefly wonder before nudging the silly thought aside.

“Will it be a long one where you steal all the hot water? ‘Cause if so, I bet the food will be cold by then. I might even have to eat it for you.”

A small, humoring nod, and a smile as the placator. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

A beat of silence comes, and then with his lashes fluttering down at you, watching what he sees with barely concealed wonder, it goes.

Rather than using words, Caleb regards you for a few seconds more before extending a pinky, awaiting with a hope that’s boyish.

“I’ll watch the kids while you’re gone, don’t worry.”

Then, you’re laughing breathlessly and lacing his pinky in your own. When his forehead presses to yours, though, your smile dies where it spreads. His name escapes you in a wary breath.

“C-Caleb.”

A warning; or a plead to not cross the proverbial line drawn in the sand.

He shushes you, murmuring, “I know. I’m just… glad to see you.”

Whatever’s taken ahold of him, he shortly snaps out of, breaking away from you with quickness.

Not bothering to hear a response, or perhaps just afraid of one, he’s thumping up the stairs in a blink, helpfully throwing over his shoulder, “I left a towel in the bathroom for ya- you know where it is. I’ll head to the room and check on the kids... See how they’re gettin’ along with Apple.”

You’re left with the bag at your feet and the fluffy scarf still hanging pitifully from your fingers. The mess he’s left of your drumming heart.

Every part of you tingles in his absence, your skin crawling beneath your wooly jacket and jeans… though not it in a wholly unpleasant way.

Smothering a yawn in the back of your hand, you decide to push whatever just transpired to the metaphorical backburner, walking towards the hall.

On your pass around the kitchen, you pretend not to see the thick, red envelope lying on the counter for you; the handsome wad of cash surely tucked inside.

A soft, defeated sigh. Then following it, a slow, deliberate smile that lifts your cheeks.

Ever the cosseter, your older brother.

✦

Gideon’s glass clinks with yours.

With Caleb putting the kids down for bed, it’s his childhood bestfriend that keeps you company in the kitchen after dinner.

Despite your insistence to make yourself useful, the brunet nonetheless refused each of your offers to do the dishes, reminding you of your guest title. So instead, you prop yourself against the counter and hold conversation over a flute of wine.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen your brother, yes, but even longer still since you’ve seen Gideon, yet he’s as unexpectedly charming as you remember him.

A little rough around the edges, with his sharp, square jaw and dark cropped hair, but you think his real allure lies in his gauche sort of sincerity. It’s easy to like him, even easier to call him handsome— both of which your teenage self did enthusiastically in pages of your diary.

You can distinctly recall the moment when Caleb first discovered the object of all those callow, lovesome poems, the flash of his eyes and then the anger settling. Finding out your crush was his veritable best friend might as well have been the same as finding out there had been a death in the family, but it was envy more than anything else that clung to his voice after the glance of betrayal had passed.

“You like Gideon?” A disbelieving scoff, and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes to pair with it. The last thing you wanted after getting home from school was to be put through yet another lecture, by your brother no less.

“Sis: I told you about guys my age, didn’t I? They’re not a good influence-“

“Then why d’you hang out with him all the time?”

“Don’t,” he henpecks, lifting the tacky journal when you make an attempt for it again, “Change the subject, little missy. It doesn’t matter if we hang out or not. He’s still a man, sis, okay? And you remember what Gran said, right? About the birds and the bees-“

“Caleb- gross!”

“Yeah, exactly, gross,” he agrees, light but pointed. “But that’s all they want.”

At the time, you’d been a flustered mess and furious he’d took the liberty upon himself to snoop; being exposed for your crush was the worst thing that could’ve happened during your sophomore year. But it’s hard to do anything but laugh thinking back on it now.

“I heard you’re seeing the drone show?”

You hum, lowering your glass with a smile. “Yeah. Caleb’s gonna take me and the kids for New Years,” you add solely out of curiosity, “You coming too?”

The reaction he gives you, one of faint fluster as a shade of pink dusts his hewn cheekbones, isn’t expected.

You sort of marvel at it, raising a curious brow as he rubs his neck and chuckles. “Um, I don’t think so… I’d hate to intrude, you know? But otherwise, I would’ve been down.”

Ah. It seems his gift of being funny without trying hasn’t faded with time. “Why would you be intruding? You’re practically family to us, Gideon. You wouldn’t be intruding on anything. Besides,” you stick on with a harmless giggle, “I’m sure Summer and Skye would like it if both their cool uncles tagged along.”

If it’s possible, his blush deepens.

He hides his dreamy sigh with a cough, averting his gaze elsewhere. His career path has always been something he’s took great pride in; you’re sure soaring the skies all day long is only made better by the fact that he gets to do it with his childhood buddy.

“Ah, well honestly? I’d really like to, it’s just-”

As if on cue, another figure walks in right when you’re about to get to the bottom of it, his voice trailing off with what you think might be guilt as a new one chimes in.

“It’s just…?”

Warmth invades your senses. A cloud of cinnamon enveloping you.

An arm slings across your shoulder, tucking you to his side. Before you can so much as register what’s happening, Caleb reaches for the drink dangling in your hand and knocks half of it back with an exaggerated sound of refreshment.

“You-!”

“Mission ‘get the kids to bed’ is complete,” he informs blithely, and you take what’s left of your wine back with a somewhat amused glance at him.

Swallowing down an objection to his offense, or moreover the hand that dips to rest at the small of your back, you thank him for the accomplishment. “It’s always a hassle to get them to lay down.”

“Oh, no need to thank me,” he chimes, turning his head to regard you with a rather vainglorious smirk. “That’s what I’m here for. You’re my guest for the week, Pipsqueak. I’d be a pretty lame host if I made you do all the work.”

Sure, they’re his niece and nephew, but ultimately, although you’re sure he’d jump at the offer, they’re not his to care for…: Something you don’t voice, preferring to bite the reminder down as he pries his gaze from you to Gideon. You follow in suit.

Those wide, dark eyes trend over you both, watching with an excessive amount of interest.

When you catch him, he glances away, chugging the beverage in hand with renewed thirst.

You clench your jaw and look down, idly thumbing at your glass as you casually extricate yourself from the brunet’s side. If Caleb is upset about the space, he doesn’t comment on it, but the final glimpse you catch of him reveals a slightly kicked expression.

He recovers from it with a cock of his head, lilting, “Now, where were we again?”

“Gideon wants to come to the show with us,” you immediately regret saying because Gideon appears almost betrayed when you shoot him a confused glance, like you’ve thrown him under the bus rather than invite him to the city event that’ll mark the celebration of the new year.

Somewhere at your side, Caleb muses, “Oh, really now? Funny… What made ya change your mind from the last time we talked about it?”

“Just-“ Gideon fumbles out between sips, motioning with his hands to no particular thing, “You know, man. I wanna see the lights. It might be cool.”

“I’m pretty sure you can watch the drone show from your window. Orrrr… anywhere else.”

Your guest’s behavior was a little suspicious, yes, but now the pieces fall into perfect place.

You throw an elbow to your brother’s arm, snipping. “Caleb, what’s wrong with you? Why can’t he go?”

A strained laugh, and then Gideon’s moving forward to grab the neck of the bottle off the island, pouring another out. During so, he tries to assure you all is well, but as you glare at the brunet with equal parts confusion and disappointment- maybe embarrassment on his behalf for being so damn rude- you’re not convinced.

“It’s fine, really. I’ll probably be invited by somebody else before then, so…”

You frown. “But it’s in two days… Don’t you think you’d have been invited by now?”

A delicate rose flushes his handsome face, burning the tips of his big ears. Caleb snorts at your right, stepping out to refill his own glass but listening intently.

“W-Well—“

A holler cuts through the otherwise relaxed atmosphere. The kids are fighting, if Summer’s annoyance was the least bit clear- and in a heartbeat you’re foregoing your drink, the conversation, padding up the steps.

Seamlessly, Caleb turns to raise a thick eyebrow, tone almost longanimous in your absence.

“You’re not going, got it? You’re watchin’ the pup for us.”

Gideon deflates. The tension lifts on the spot.

“Yeah. I figured.”

✦

With all the traffic, it’s a hike to get to City Square.

Once you do arrive, the plaza is packed, spilling into the outskirts of town, handheld lights speckling the crowd.

You’re immersed in a sea of star-like flashes, and as Caleb hefts Skye over his broad shoulders to sit, your daughter’s fingers keeping an iron grasp around yours as you navigate as close to the front as possible, you can’t help but laugh.

By a small miracle, although perhaps helped by the fact your brother is so tall and quietly commands respect wherever he goes, his Colonel rank or whatever, you make it to the front.

A lake looms before you, its flat, icy surface a mirror for the clear, dark skies overhead. Beyond it, the workings of the show are being prepared on the grassy patch across.

Bundled up in your winter wear, you grab the rail and wait for the show to begin.

Excited chatter bounces between the kids in those intervening moments, loud enough to hear despite the horde of people around you.

Caleb humors their endless stream of questions relating to fireworks and aircrafts- his life as a pilot- putting into layman’s terms what his job entails while also omitting the bits too elaborate for a six and four year old to handle.

He’s always been good with them. That’s true, definitely.

Always treated them like his own.

But he’s different now— you’re different now— And then again, you find yourself thinking God should smite you as those flashes of debauchery trickle back into the forefront of your brain, eager to meddle with your night of peace.

“My turn: You wanna know what I think? You’re worryin’ for nothing, Pipsqueak. Since… we’re not related by blood, it wouldn’t affect them. Gran only took us both in, remember? So me n’ you can do anything we want-“

“There. Can you see where they’re settin’ it up now, buddy? Pretty cool, right? You’re so high it’s like you’re flyin’.”

“And… you know…” he whispers seductively, a stirring of warmth at your neck. His long fingers skim the smooth pouch of your belly, tracing there appreciatively. Or meditating, maybe.

“That includes…”

A chilly breeze swoops low, over the lake. And you should be glad for the mittens that warm your hands and the scarf meticulously looped around your neck- a knot you could never do- but as a layer of sweat forms on your palms, it’s hard to feel anything but uncomfortable.

“Hey, don’t worry- I gotcha. Uncle Caleb’s not gonna let you fall on his watch. Just watch your head up there, kay? Lots of activity tonight… Don’t let go of your mama, Summer, stay just like that.”

“Settling down. Havin’ kids of our own one day- our own big family- isn’t out of the equation,” he flicks your forehead far too light to even hurt, “So don’t go gettin’ all existential on me.”

The sound of your name being called pulls you from your unbidden reverie with a start.

“Y-Yeah?”

A smile greets you, warm and gentle. Just inches from your face as a thick arm curls around your midriff, his other steadying the small boy atop his shoulders. A mite amused by the lack of general awareness you’re exhibiting.

“Show’s startin’. Eyes up, babe.”

Babe.

The petname, said so casually, rolls off the tip of his tongue and might as well scald you as soon as it registers. Yet if Caleb realizes his error, or even cares for it, he doesn’t express it with any sign of remorse; when your eyes widen at him, he’s not the picture of scandalized or even mildly shocked, no, he’s just beaming that stupid, mellow smile at you and then-

As the drones lift, a million colors dotting the vast sky, rotating into depictions of ancient tales and creatures- coiling dragons and intricate faces- Caleb leans in.

And with your little boy propped on his shoulders while Summer tugs at the hem of your sweater, the pair of them far too absorbed in the spectacle to so much as glance at you, he captures your lips with his.

What kills you the most, though, isn’t his mouth pressed against yours or even the murmured “Happy New Year, sis”- no.

It’s the fact that you can’t say you didn’t see it coming.

✦

White knuckles clench the sink.

The mirror, squeaky clean, ripples before you. Blurs through your tears- the ones you refuse to let go of.

Bedtime is in a few minutes. No mother wants her children to see her cry.

The plan was to visit for the week, celebrate the new year with your brother: a fun, seemingly harmless plan despite all the red flags being there in retrospect. Maybe you’d be lying to say a piece of you, deep down and having long been buried, didn’t know what would happen.

In your head, quietly staring at your reflection and feeling nothing but the raw sting of disappointment and disgust with a healthy side of self loathing- you compare Caleb to a wound reopened.

And whatever the two of you had before is what you have now. Bleeding for the umpteenth time, dragging you down with it.

First thing tomorrow, you’ll leave.

Two days earlier than originally intended, sure… but you already spent the last 24 hours since he kissed you fighting tooth and nail to pretend he didn’t- a test of sheer endurance if you’ve ever experienced one- and this isn’t an act you want to keep up for long.

Let alone in front of the kids.

Any more and you might do something you regret.

Like slap him across the stupid, handsome fucking face for ruining six years of staying sober from each other. Or perhaps the greatest fear you have is that you’ll end up kissing it back instead.

Long, slender digits twine with yours.

You’d be hard pressed to find a place in the airport that isn’t flooded with chatter and passersby; most are too absorbed in the haze of travel to notice you, but still, it feels… wrong when Caleb pulls you closer in a melting pot of people and presses his forehead to yours.

All the more when your husband is here accompanying you, and there’s no telling when he’ll get back from the food stall with Summer.

The look on his face if he ever found out- the utter devastation and then abhorrence- would kill you.

“Caleb-“

Your yelp of startle, or fear, perhaps, is truncated by the look you’re met with. Tender, though clearly not far off from being emotionally derailed. So much he reminds you of that boy you once knew, two grades ahead of you and protective as a mama bear, never far away.

And God- he knows you have everything to lose, what with your spouse and the recent addition of a little one; that once distant dream of eloping with some dashing, princely man is quite literally right in front of you. Not to mention, Caleb is doing alright for himself too, climbing the ranks of his workplace at breakneck speed.

You’re both doing well for yourselves. More than that, even. You finally have the chance to put the past- put Caleb- behind you, and move on with your respective lives.

For good, this time.

So you wish he’d show some enthusiasm about it, even if it grudges you to admit it’s a little bittersweet on your end, too.

“Caleb,” you go to say again, but it’s useless. A large palm slips between your bodies, hidden by the cluster of bags he’d been so kind to carry off his shoulder. It settles over the soft, nearly imperceptible swell of your belly.

Not even your husband has noticed yet.

Mere inches from your head as you bow it, he thinly murmurs.

“It… should’ve been mine.”

So strange, right then, how the tone of his voice sounds both like heartfelt regret and a promise to come.

With a shaky breath, you dot at the unshed tears clinging to your eyes and flick off the bathroom light.

The hallway one will follow suit- just as soon as you tuck the kids in and crack their door. You’re not afraid of them exploring at night, wandering off on their lonesomes in their Uncle’s super duper big house: with the puppy around now, he keeps a partition by the steps, and it keeps more than just the pet from going up and down the steep staircase.

Besides, you bet they’ll be out like a light tonight. You suppose a day’s worth of running around town, scampering from shop to shop as their Uncle spoils them rotten will tire out even the most spritely of six and four year olds.

Pausing by the open door, you’re met with the vision of the brunet bidding the kids goodnight.

Knelt down, Skye tries to curl up on his knee while his sister enthusiastically shows off the beloved stuffie she managed to slip under your radar while you packed the essentials.

A soft, tormented exhale. You allow yourself the moment to lean against the door and fold your arms, observing the admittedly endearing sight without making yourself known, but it’s not fondness that coasts through your chest— or heartache as you picture all but abandoning him again. It’s definitely not.

That’s… what he called it once, anyway. Abandonment.

The accusation slipped out in the heat of the moment, but even those award-winning puppy dog eyes of his couldn’t quite mend the wounded look you’d given him in turn.

He can play a cruel game, you know that well by now. Manipulative to a fault and wildly possessive. But he’ll be slow to admit his devotion to you often lands less on romantic and more on…

Frightening.

Granted, a hard trait to assign to him when he stands up- six foot something of lean mass- and laughs when your youngest clings to his leg and refuses to let go.

Neither of the kids have noticed your hovering yet, and you don’t think Caleb has, either, but right when you’re about to force down your unease and finally step in, the whimpering pleas of your children stop you short.

“Pweaaase Uncle Caweb? Convince our mommy to stay!”

Skye firmly parrots, “Stay! Stay!” And it’d be nothing but untrue to say the sweet sounds don’t tug on your insides.

Your brother huffs through his nose. It’s hard to decide whether it’s out of amusement for their antics, or exasperation at the mention of your leaving tomorrow. Very well could be both.

Yet there seems to be a sense of sadness to his voice when he ruffles their hair each and announces, decidedly resolved,

“Uncle Caleb will see what he can do, kay?”

✦

Funny that.

See what he can do.

You hadn’t given him much of a chance to convince you, though, hurriedly skittering away before he could catch so much as a glimpse as you made a beeline for the lower floor, so maybe you’re afraid he’ll suceed.

Even so. You’re smart enough to anticipate that surrender- that final offering of yourself to him in whole- and have acted accordingly to stop it.

Turning your back and scurrying down the stairs before he could get a word in might be the trademark of a coward- but when it comes to transgressions, that childhood ledger you used to carry around holds no shortage of ammo against him, and Caleb is far from better.

Very far.

And you’re a saint, right? A self-critical voice offers somewhere in the back of your head, and yeah it makes you a little bitter. With another sigh, you lift on your tippy toes to grab the cup from the cabinet, and then fill it at the fridge.

Maybe you’re no good, either, but the truth is that you tried. Tried to change. Tried to improve. Tried-

To quit him.

That plan went smoothly for all of a whopping six years before the backbone of it collapsed. Since then, things haven’t gone exactly… swimmingly. But you kept the distance between you and Caleb, and that effort, no matter how cruel a measure it seemed taken against family, meant something.

Up until a couple days ago. When he kissed you, and single-handedly undid everything you’d ever worked towards.

A scoff. You angrily set down your cup and look towards the clock above the oven, its numbers glowing. It’s very, very late, and you should be asleep, but rest didn’t come easy to you- not when you were half expecting your foster brother to barge in unannounced to serenade you with some bullshit apology.

Some bullshit apology, yes- because you don’t want to imagine the alternative.

You’d managed a couple hours of sleep before something or another woke you up- your inner torment, probably- and then decided you were thirsty. That, and restless. Rolling out of the comfy, foam bed didn’t seem all too convenient, not when it felt like entering the rest of the house was akin to stepping over enemy lines, but there was no way you’d spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, and your throat was begging for water.

Everything is packed up. The kids’ clothes and the plushies they dragged along, the toiletries.

Your own personal bag sits at the foot of the guest bed, zipped. All that’s left to do is sling it over your shoulder and go.

Getting all of the luggage crammed in the trunk is another matter entirely, and how you’ll combat Caleb’s attempts to help with it this time, you don’t know. But you refuse to let him.

He’ll be fucking lucky if he even gets to say goodbye to the kids. Let alone you.

Because this is unfair. He can’t just- kiss you and turn your world upside down and then act like you’re the bad guy for ducking him in return.

Receiving that initial text from him, organizing the trip and then physically making the drive, it was all so… believable. You really began to feel hopeful that the distance was paying off in leaps and bounds.

Caleb made a convincing act.

So did you.

Wincing at your own internal struggle, you swipe a hand over your face and take the moment while it presents itself to just… be.

A million emotions whirl inside you at once with an intensity you’re neither awake enough nor mentally there enough to quell.

Frustration, however, is the one that compels you to mutter “Dummy” underneath your breath, sighing over no one thing in particular.

Indignation sears through the stronghold of your heart, bitter to the point of flooding your tear ducts, and then guilt ravages whatever’s left. Reaching again for your near depleted drink, you’re far from prepared when a droll voice rings behind you.

“Dummy, huh?” He comments. “And who are you callin’ that, Pipsqueak?”

You startle. Spinning around so quick that the water splashes up and wets the front of your gown. You hiss under your breath, searching for the dish towel immediately, blotting the fabric with your back to him because you refuse to let him see you fluster.

“What do you want?” You announce. Civil or not, you don’t care. He lost the privilege of your manners, and you can’t be bothered to be nice to him right now.

Galactic eyes sweep over you incredulously, if not a little possessive. “Didn’t I teach you about respectin’ your elders?” He says after a pause, pursing his lips. Still, you’re not so deluded to miss the spark of amusement there.

…Yeah, you’re just a little embarrassed he caught you like this… You can try as you might to act unfazed by his appearance, but evidently- what with the stain cooling on the front of your negligee- he has an effect on you.

You scoff, throwing his words right back at him. “Elders? Wake up Caleb, we are the elders. And if anything- I’m more of one than you,” you snip, spinning around now to cross your arms over your chest and glare at him to the best of your ability. Unwarranted or not, childish or not, the cruel accusations are spilling out. This whole situation has been simmering to a point for years now, and it’s finally boiling over.

“Twenty-eight and still no kids. N-No wife.”

You don’t expect him to snap back, really, you don’t- not with any true heat, anyway. You’ve only spent all your formative childhood years with him: more than enough to know he’s slow to anger albeit quick to participate in banter. Per usual, he’ll take your jabs against him like water off a duck’s back, and then return them with a casual but direct hit against you. Friendly fire.

Caleb’s face darkens.

Whatever playful, cheerful brother you knew growing up disappears in a cloud of smoke.

Indigo eyes, ever bright as they stare at you, fall into a heavy look, then, as he takes his hand off his hip. His handsome features betraying what you understand to be real, raw frustration.

Although, that word doesn’t quite do it justice... He looks…

Wounded.

Guilt churns inside you— and regret, undeniable regret. But it’s too late to take back your reckless statement. There’s something terribly offensive in what you just said and it compels Caleb to stride forward and- much too quick for you to react- snatch your wrist.

His long fingers loop around your skin, not hard enough to leave bruises but just enough to let you know who holds the reins here.

There was always a certain hierarchy in the house, your non-acknowledgment of it as a little girl irrelevant. Gran was at the top, of course, your guardian when all was said and done, the one who supplied a roof over your head and paid the bills. But as you grew older, oddly enough, you quietly realized that it was your older brother who resembled a parental figure the most.

For a good while, up until you split ways, tied the knot with your now ex-husband and moved out of the family home, Caleb was the man of your house.

Right now, you’re quietly convinced he always will be.

Deceiving yourself for all this time was such a sweet, devastating game to play. But the present leaves you with no other choice but to own up to your mistakes- your sheer fucking stupidity- and face him head-on as he looms over you and puts a match to your heart.

“And that’s my fault?” He retorts, purple hues holding a challenge, “Do you honestly think I wanted this, Y/n?” A harsh laugh, a shake of his head.

“For all this time I’ve had to sit back and watch you fool around with a guy who couldn’t care less about you,” shame burns your cheeks, but he continues on, knowing all the right places to apply his blade and cut, “And you’ve spat in my face for every attempt I made to pull you out of it. What other choice did I have but to be alone?”

Anger floods to the surface, prickling under your skin and burning. You have every reason to be upset with him, to want to grab him by his stupid broad shoulders and shake, but you’re thrown the curve ball of intense, sudden sadness.

For lack of better response, you laugh along, too. “Oh, so it all falls back on me, huh? Your fucking misery-?”

“And so what if it does?” He whispers. Your glare wavers when he leans in closer, the tip of his nose no more than an inch from yours. Whatever outburst you’d prepared to unleash on him dies in your throat.

This is your brother, yes, but the boy you once knew has long been put in a coffin and lowered into the dirt. What you’re staring at now- what you’re brainlessly challenging without the faintest idea of the consequences to be reaped from it- is no more than a man, deprived of what he’s always wanted most, might you add.

Deprived for a very, long time.

Caleb practically snarls, “Everything was fine until you-“

A hot flash of panic grips you, raw and dizzying, and then-

Releases in an instant.

Knuckles caress the slope of your cheek, the other hand loosening from your wrist though not falling away entirely, and the look of ill intent, or hurt, vanishes from the brunet’s face. It’s an overwhelming softness that mellows out his expression, and you watch on with wide eyes as he exhales sharply. He’s the picture of reverence, of adoration.

But not of repentance.

Thick lashes brush over his cheekbone, his fingertips like butterfly wings against your own as he maps out your stunned look.

Compared to just seconds ago, his voice is an unrecognizable, tender thing, “We were perfect, sis. Don’t you remember our promise we made to each other?”

Oh, you remember many. But you were kids. Stupid and naive and unprepared- you most of all.

A full breath gusts out of you in a sigh. Quickly looking down, you shake your head and make a pathetic little sound. That’s more than enough to tell Caleb you don’t want to have this conversation during the wee hours of morning, let alone when tomorrow is an early day for travel- but he takes your visible conflict as a cue to rest his hand over your lower back and pull you in like it’s instinct.

And you can’t blame him, because it is. He’s used to protecting, to being your shield. There’s many times where Caleb’s been at fault: locking you in the attic as kids and stealing the leftovers with your name on it just a couple to name, but to be honest, you kind of pity him when he gets like this… even if he’s still just as bad.

To anyone else, the outsiders looking in, he’s nothing more than possessive. A dog hoarding a bone. But you can recognize your foster brother for what he really is.

Afraid.

Terribly, wretchedly afraid.

And God, you love him, you do, there’s no amount of time spent apart from him that can undo that, but your bond was never meant to be what he wanted it to be and you just-

“I can’t do this, Caleb,” you croak out. It’s a weak, juvenile protest at best, but you press your palm against his front and refuse to look at him, even when he props a gentle, yet no less firm hand under your chin and draws it up with need.

“Why not?” He breathes. When you finally muster enough courage to open your eyes, a knot has appeared between Caleb’s thick brows, and he looks just a few mean words away from crying- those manipulative tendencies on full display.

Jerk. Your fingers twirl the fabric of his sleep shirt; futile retaliation.

You go to respond but he stops you, lips grazing against yours and your whole body locks up. “You’re right. We’re… not kids anymore,” he pits your own words against you, but it’s done in a voice too sweet to warrant anger, “Nobody can tell us what we can and can’t do. So… stop hiding from this, yeah? Haven’t I always taken care of you?”

You wince, voiceless. “You’re my brother.” The closest thing you’ll ever have to one, anyway.

A syrupy hum. He twines his fingers in your hair and painlessly tugs you in by the handful until your foreheads touch. “N’ I always will be. It’s my job to always be at your side.”

“N-Not like this.” You want to shrink, silently praying that the floor opens up a hole that can swallow you on the spot- but you’re not so fortunate.

Slightly chapped lips brush over your tightly closed eyes, then, and the hand he has on your lower back trails even lower to cup your ass through your night gown.

“You never complained before though, hm?” He mumbles, as comforting as he is malicious. “When we fooled around back then. You… liked it, didn’t you?”

He gives a little squeeze to your pert ass as if to test his point, measuring your reaction, but then before he gets it, he hefts you up by your legs and sets you on the marble counter.

“Caleb-“

Hot breath fans at the shell of your ear, weakening whatever it touches, the nerve endings beneath his lips lighting. They dive along your neck in a slow, sensual assault, the wet column of his tongue melting the dregs of your composure, striping under your jaw.

There’s no warning. You feel him all over, everywhere, carving a hole from the inside out.

“When I touched you like this,” he adds, grabbing you by the hips now and slamming your core to his abdomen. The bulge lying beneath his thin sleep wear comes as a small shock to you, but though it’s unfamiliar, it’s not completely foreign. Semi-hard, but fast to fatten up as he thoughtlessly begins to rut himself against you, palms groping soft skin, mouth suckling on your neck all the while.

The hickies will last. So will your guilt once the sun pops up tomorrow and you’ve actually agreed to let this happen, but it’s progressively hard to say no.

“When I put my fingers inside you…”

His touch moves to the apex of your thighs (trembling, though you willfully ignore that), easily accessing the lacy seat of your panties with an effortless push of your gown. He slips the cotton down until it hooks off your ankles, but contrary to his promising words, doesn’t force his digits in.

No, instead he fully pries your legs open with a desperate, ragged moan-

“When I got on my knees and ate this sweet, little pussy.”

-and sinks to the kitchen tile to bury his head between your thighs and feast.

You cry out immediately, stilting your arms to pull at his ash-brown hair— that which he rewards with a breathy grunt.

Without any preamble, his tongue delves between your folds, washing over your clit to suck, and although it’s been years since he last took you this way and you’re far from in your right mind, you wonder if he’s gotten better, because fuck it feels that way.

He heaves, “I know I liked it.”

That doesn’t come as a big surprise to you. Despite your best efforts to convince yourself whatever fling you shared was long gone, lost in the dust you kicked behind you, deep in your heart, you knew the painful, dirty truth.

Your brother was never ready to let you go. He wasn’t then, and he sure as hell isn’t now.

Distantly, you realize that while you might’ve been able to wriggle out of his hold before, you were younger then, more immature but given a sort of grace period because of that- and though he was far from reasonable, he still had some sense to know pursuing you when you ran wasn’t possible.

That was before.

The option to right your wrongs is no longer available to you in the present, though. And Caleb, you know, as much as it grudges you to admit, is right.

Free from prying eyes, he can do whatever the hell he pleases.

Expert hands, knowing you best, rend you apart. Your taste is divine and your skin is so hot it’s practically melting the callous span of his palms, but it’s the delicate little whine of his name you can’t help from falling in time that makes the thinning thread of his composure snap completely.

“Fuck,” he snarls. The sound stirs a fresh wave of arousal in your belly- maybe fear, too.

Without any warning he climbs to his feet and pushes you by your collarbone, your back meeting the cool countertop with ease. The haze clears ever so slightly now that your pussy has reprieve from his lips, but that fog isn’t altogether gone. You’re still only half aware of what’s happening, and even less sure of whether you can afford to say yes to him or not.

Because no, this isn’t like before. Two reckless teenagers with the safety-net excuse of ‘young and dumb’ to bounce back into should you regret your actions. No, you’re adults now, with an established foothold in the real world and if you mess up, if you go through with this, there’s no fresh start.

For fuck’s sake— This. This was meant to be the fresh start.

Pulsing in your chest, thudding like steel-toed boots over solid ground, your heart throbs.

With labored breaths, you shakily lift yourself up by an elbow, watching with misty eyes as the brunet fumbles with his pants- reaching over only to nudge you back into submission.

Not a hard task. The truth of the matter is that the fiercest of your resistance is gone, abandoned in the wake of his obsession, his own twisted form of love.

Your foster brother is many things. Just as bound and determined as he is tender and considerate- and so as your last ditch effort, you appeal to that side.

“Please,” tears well up in your eyes, but they don’t fall, and even if they did, you’re not sure if they’re from the emotional trainwreck you’re experiencing or just the sheer overwhelm he’s causing your body.

Violet, nebulous eyes flick up at that, though, regarding you with a cool sort of clarity, and as they flash with… something like uncertainty, you wonder if it’s worked.

In the next moment, whatever you thought you saw is gone.

“Don’t worry. I’m here.”

His broad hands find purchase on the fat of your hips, and then with a slam of his mouth against yours to hush your disoriented cry, he’s driving himself home.

It’s a cocktail of momentary pain and then searing pleasure- his thick cock barreling inside with a choked moan of your name. The ceiling spins. The dimmed light of the kitchen fuzzing away. And fuck it’s like you can almost swear you feel the very veins on his shaft, pulsating within your soaked walls, the long absence of him only highlighting just how good it feels to have him this way again.

In that moment, you remember him. You remember everything like you’d never forgotten.

“Shh,” he murmurs, fingers reverently trailing up your arm before tangling with your own, but you’re only half cognizant of what he’s saying.

“I’ll fuck you nice and good, sis. Give you what I- nghh- know you need... It’s this, right?” He husks, looking all too satisfied with himself and the effect he has on you, “You just needed me back inside you, right? Filling you to the brim…”

A gasp. You tremble, arching into him despite yourself. And God, with whatever’s left of your rationale, you pray the kids won’t wake, that Apple won’t start yipping in his cage or Gran won’t barge into the room this very instant and uncover the nakedness of the ones she brought up with her own hand.

For the millionth time, you remind yourself that this was the second chance; your only real shot at contributing to a functioning society as a normal human being, and you’ve blown it.

All your efforts—

Ruined.

And you’re so screwed for it, especially tomorrow when this slaps you in the face like a bag of bricks, but Caleb makes it feel sweet. Rewarding.

“This pussy is mine. Not that asshole’s… Not Gideon’s… Not anyone else’s but mine. Say yes. Be a good girl and- fuck- say yes.”

“Y-Yes,” you bluster out, clinging to his shirt like it’s your lifeline, burying your face in his shoulder where you’re safe from the world, silently hoping it’s a place that God’s judgement too can’t reach.

Caleb lets out a ragged, delighted groan. The shudder that racks through him is palpable and erotic. Assured, he sets out anew with the goal in mind to pleasure you, bringing his other hand down toy with your clit- rubbing the puffy, wet bud with sloppy tilts of his wrist.

“Ngh... I waited for so long to have you like this again. You’ve been runnin’ away from me, sis. So you can’t blame me for wantin’ to make up for lost time, yeah? Besides…”

For dirty talk, his words sure sound ominous, but you choose to overlook them- on top of the fact that he never bothered to so much as mention a condom, and this is very, very dangerous.

Caleb draws away some from the dip of your neck to stare at you unabashed, and the glint in his eye, then, can only be described as tenacious. So much to the point that you distantly hear a few alarm bells sound- but the idea that warnings alone are enough to save you is foolish.

He’s a dog with a bone and sometimes you wonder if he’d rather bury you than let anyone else get their hands on what’s his.

Knuckles dote on the side of your cheek, feather-light like you’re something to be worshipped. But that adoring touch belies the quickness in which he pulls the rug from underneath your feet when those fingertips drop, meeting your smooth belly a second later.

For the moment, devoid of life.

“I’ve got some other things to make up for too, huh?”

✦

In the morning, the kids greet you with breakfast in bed- delivered to you on a wooden tray with sides far too fancy to be comfortable with, and a kiss to your cheek as greeting.

“Thank you mommy!” They squeal, but you just rub your eyes and sigh, mustering up the weakest of smiles.

He must’ve told them already.

Honest to God you don’t remember much of last night in your exhausted state- and you’re fine with it staying that way. Yeah sure you were… persuaded into staying a couple more days, but you plan to spend the rest of this one forgetting what happened last night, and you don’t have much of an appetite right now, as delicious as his cooking is.

So you accept the gift with a peck to their foreheads and send them off, the puppy scrambling after them on their way out, and then set the plate on the nightstand at your side.

It’s fine to sleep in just a little bit more. I mean, the kids will be occupied, and-

There’s no knock to signal his appearance, not even a hello. Caleb steps in like he owns the place (and you grumpily suppose he does), and leans over to press a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. You willfully ignore the bare skin beneath the words painted onto his corny apron, the hard planes of muscle you were so acquainted with last night, gleaming with the sweat of his labor.

“Mornin’, honey. My bed’s waaay comfier than the guest room’s, don’tcha think?” A rascal’s grin etches into his cheeks. You softly groan.

“I’m sleeping, Caleb.”

You grab the nearest pillow and, though you seriously consider throwing it at him, pile it over your head and burrow into the sheets.

That earns a smooth chuckle; a gentle rub against your back. “Yeah, yeah, Pipsqueak, I hear ya. I’ll leave you alone for now, just because I’m still busy in the kitchen. But you can’t hide in here forever. Kay?”

Whatever he has to say next is apparently important, because it’s enough to warrant his immediate presence at your side and a dip of the mattress as he flattens himself over you and removes the pillow to access your toasty face.

He whispers against your temple with a playful, languid drawl, “Wouldn’t wanna leave our kids alone for too long, right?”

reblogs save the world btw 💕 love yall!!!

[sylvieisoffline]

THIS IS SO GOOD, WHAT THE FUCK?!

[syluses]

big girls don’t cry

𓍯𓂃 self aware robot! caleb x female reader

(wc: 9.5k) ✦ summary: after your brother passes, consumed by grief, you take to the internet to order a synthetic version of him. afterward, it’s impossible to throw him out. (or: alternatively titled the trojan horse)

✦ content robot! caleb, past engineer! caleb, au where EVER deals in robotics, non-evol au, 18+ nsfw/smut, mildly dubious consent, angst, grief, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, robot pseudocest?? robot sex, mind games, moral grayness all around, dark/yandere undertones; this fic can have multiple interpretations, pregnancy

✦ sidenote have yall ever seen that episode of black mirror? ‘be right back’? basically this: the girl’s boyfriend dies so she orders an incredibly realistic, intelligent robot to replace him. they’re identical in personality and appearance, and yet… 👀 ANYWAYS ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ ) i have a set plot for this in my head, but i left it a lil vague so ur allowed to think of it in ur own way 🤎 if u wanna know the ‘canon’ tho.. u can absolutely ask me. the lore is so deep its traumatizing :,) anyways hope u enjoy <3 ty for 1k btw!! take this as a lil celebration treat 🥳 it took so much out of me but i think i really vibe with it heheh

He’s perfect. Nigh on.

For the first few days since his arrival, since hauling him off the foot of your porch and into your living room to unpack him- heart tickering in your chest all the while, trepidatious- you’ve just stared. Reached out your hands to hover, ghosting over the broad blade of his shoulder, his chapped lips, the slight jut of his cheekbone.

His hands, as big and weathered as you remember them (but gentle, always gentle), hang limply by his sides.

You don’t dare slip your smaller ones in them.

All of the theatrics, yet you don’t press his- its- button, either.

No, you don’t even touch it after the initial unpacking, wrenching your fingers away as soon as they get too close. As soon as they get too tempted by hope and the wish that this hunk of metal was more than just a replica of your late brother. Half of you thinks it might burn if you get too comfortable; and you won’t get comfortable— underneath the solidified layers of grief and- you have trouble saying it aloud, but bitterness- there’s still just enough common sense to keep you from taking the leap. The leap from mourning to insanity.

It’s hollow. You know that much. A nothingness enwrapped in a steely chassis full of wiring and code too technological for you to understand, all covered by a synthetic skin suit as the pretty bow on top.

And you know- what with your emotional state- that if you could peer inside, strip it down to the framework and just… take a moment to look, that you’d vomit. It’d be too much to bear, being forced to reconcile with the fact that he really is gone— and in response to it all, you’ve blown your savings on an eerily-realistic, glorified doll of him with wires for veins.

You’re trembling when you stiffly prop him against the far wall, limiting contact as much as possible, and step away, keeping your eyes on him all the while. It. Not him. Not Caleb- that’s not your fucking brother, just a disgusting, soulless fascimile of him—

But as you stand back on your feet (with the coffee table in between, just in case) to get a good look at him, like a real, proper look, your breath is taken.

The thing: He’s not just a passable carbon copy, you realize. Admittedly, he’s…

Identical.

(He’s Caleb.)

All the oxygen gusts out of you in a breeze.

You lift a shaking hand over your open mouth and choke as silent tears spill from your lashline, blurring your eyes on the way down. Wetting your knuckles as they shake wildly.

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. This is- you can’t do this. You just can’t.

Racing upstairs, retreating to your bedroom to slam the door as if the devil himself was on your tail, only then do you drop your hand and fully sob.

It’s pitiful, really. Wretched noises that resonate from deep in your throat, your spirit wrecked as you curl up on the floor and make yourself into a ball.

Darkness comes outside, the space around you muting itself in grey colors. The puddle beneath your cheek is moonlit. You sniffle and relocate, but you don’t even bother to tuck the not-Caleb robot in its special container, no- you just settle beneath your blankets and pray it’s all a bad dream you’ll awake from come tomorrow.

Tomorrow: you’ll send him off. Return him.

You don’t care how much money it costs- for all you care, it’s paltry, it’s replaceable. And it is replaceable, that’s the bleak truth: that android stood motionless by your couch, despite having a face so familiar it’s painful, has no emotional value whatsoever. There’s no depth to it. No substance.

A skeleton built by rods. Artificial flesh modeled around thin, colorful cables and circuit boards.

I mean- he’s no better than the stapler on your desk, or the toaster on your kitchen counter. Better yet, a crumb on the floor.

A nothingness, you think again. Prettily encased in smooth, sun-speckled skin and that cottony loungewear (that still retains his smell) you could hardly part with when the online form requested his attire.

He’s perfect, nigh on, you’ll give the company who forged him that much credit, because they sure followed his pictures to a T. It looks just like him; so much so you couldn’t even bear to look at him for more than ten minutes before bolting, the emotional response so violent.

But the problem is that he’s not real. He’s not your Caleb.

✦

It’s hard to throw him away when he looks like that. When he bears the likeness of your late, beloved older brother.

Yes, you want to stuff him back in his box and return to sender, but when it comes to courage, you lack the backbone necessary to carry out your decisions.

You tiptoe down the stairs to see him again and sputter.

He’s too real, you decide in a heartbeat. Too real.

Shutting your eyes as tears begin to pour anew, lunging forward with blind intent to cache him away in the elaborate box he came in, you get to work. And you get to work quickly. You can only bear to look at it- that heartless caricature of your gege- for so long until you feel something in you, your last fragile piece, begin to fracture.

After the explosion, all you had left of him were the memories. Not an explanation, not a goodbye, not even a body. What remained of the boy you were fostered with was ash and a puerile, yet no less beloved locket with its edges burnt copper.

Now, you have something exponentially more physical and intact, unsullied by the reality of what was.

So for a moment, yes- sue you and your heart for hesitating- but it’s a hard task to seal him away.

Agonizing, really.

His arms are stiff by his sides but you feel the skin; the lump of muscle in his forearm, the bump of his elbow. The only thing that keeps you from giving into the puffed-up illusion of his being real and alive is the coolness beneath your fingertips. The unnatural, icy feel to his otherwise mortal skin that reminds in a voice, condescending like all things out of reach, see? that’s not Caleb. And you’re insulting him by thinking that it could be.

You’re halfway done nudging him towards the box (careful, despite your frenzied, fluttering heart; afraid to damage his likeness) when you trip over your own feet navigating the narrow space between your table and the couch.

It’s unthinking, the way you grab him- arms flying out to steady yourself with his broad shoulders.

In all your scrambling- something clicks. Gives under your fingerpad.

A button.

With mute horror, you watch his eyes light.

…And you can see it too, you know, registering in his gaze as it settles over you and takes you in— a blip of mirth that quickly warps into worry at the look you give him. You must appear no different than a deer in headlights.

For several seconds, you simply stand there, your palms clamming up where they dig into his shoulders, and gawk as Caleb— not-Caleb’s— expression turns to one ready to comfort.

Familiar, painfully.

The stiff hands at his side are spurred into motion, lifting to cradle your cheek while the other helps ground you by the small of your back.

“Meimei?”

No, no- don’t say that, don’t say that, internally, you have to shoehorn down all your grief as it bubbles up, and harden your face to keep from crying all over again.

…Although it’s more or less obvious you had been. The puffy eyes rimmed in red, the certain wisp of defeat to your brow and the exhaustion written all over you is clear as day. It leaves nothing to ponder.

He sounds disturbed by it all, the sadness about you that lies thick as a coating of paint. Commiserative to a fault. Lassoing you to his firm chest as he burrows your head below the dip of his chin.

He goes, “What’s wrong?” Then, “It’s okay, I’m here. I got you. Just let it all out.”

And the world around you staggers to a fall.

✦

It was very difficult to get rid of him as he stood still; when you could convince yourself he was just a startlingly realistic statue.

It’s all but impossible when he begins to move, and speak, and smile at you.

You don’t get close enough to press his button. You’re not quite strong enough to apply the distance you probably should, though, so when he takes a step forward, you take one back- but you never run.

It’s a weird limbo you’re caught in. Do you leap into his arms? Do you… Do you toss him out the door, after all? Leave him to the elements to chip away at his body; the rain to erode his fleshy outer shell?

But no. How could you do that? He-

He fucking looks like Caleb. It feels more sinful to rid yourself of him, now that he’s… on, than to indulge a little bit in the idea that he’s still alive and breathing.

If Caleb was still alive, you wonder silently one morning with no small amount of hurt, would he hate you? For whatever the hell it is you’re doing now?

You can’t even blame Gideon, not really. Without his persistent messages, and all the links he sent you of articles revolving androids and how they can help the user cope with grief, you’d have been none the wiser to the concept, sure- but at the end of the day, you made the choice to get one.

A chunk of your savings and an unprompted, fat check from Caleb’s best buddy— you decided to throw that at some futuristic company (well, not ‘some’: both men worked there- albeit they always kept their work very hush (you did catch whispers of a promotion, though, before the accident)) and one of the many services they provide.

Gideon, over the course of some months, was all but pointing you at their website, promising it would help. He’d be there to clear any confusion, in any case; hey, how neat did a walkthrough of the site from a bonafide EVER engineer sound?: Just one of his probes.

It was only two weeks back, however, when he paid an unsolicited house call, wordlessly wrapping you into his broad chest, that you caved to them.

You think about the scene while you sit at the counter and sip from your mug.

Your home smells richly of coffee, just brewed, and bacon as it sizzles. Eyeing not-Caleb with a pang of unease— not fully able to snuff out that feeling of uncanniness even as some days pass peacefully— you offer a small smile when he glances up at you.

Beaming just as he was the day before. Beaming like nothing is terribly wrong.

(To be clear, something is.)

You… can’t help but feel like you’re being monitored when he stares.

Yes, it’s a silly fear, you know that. The company your late brother worked for wasn’t exactly open with all the scientific grounds they made breakthroughs on, but he always promised that their means were lawful. Caleb wasn’t one for lies- so your doubts were soothed. So as hush-hush as EVER is sometimes, you’re fairly confident they wouldn’t ship out mass batches of faulty or otherwise rigged products.

Anyway- you suppose the weird intensity in its eyes isn’t all that off-putting when you take into account the very real personality it was formulated from.

When the pancakes (your favorite: banana chocolate chip; information he apparently already knew) turn an appetizing shade of gold, he shimmies them off the pan with a spatula and onto a plate.

That plate- loaded tastefully with bacon, a scoop of rice, and eggs with a ketchup smile painted over its face- slides before you. But though your belly growls, you don’t eat. Not right away. Wherever the culinary arts are concerned, your older brother has always excelled. Growing up, maybe you even exploited him a little for it- but he never did anything he didn’t want to; sometimes it even seemed like Caleb enjoyed sticking his neck out for you.

He pats his hands over his too-small apron (not that he minds it), frowning.

“What’s wrong, Pipsqueak? Does… Does the food look alright? I haven’t made somethin’ for you in a while, huh…?”

Oh no, the food looks fine.

It’s just that you’re the only one eating it.

And maybe it’d be better to keep that thought to yourself: part of you is just over the moon to have him standing in your kitchen with you after months apart— but it doesn’t matter that you keep your mouth shut, because Caleb reads your mind anyway.

He’s at your side in a blink, hushing away the tears that bead at your eyes out of nowhere.

“Hey, hey… No cryin’, okay? I’m just not hungry this morning, Meimei- but that doesn’t mean I won’t sit with you and talk while you eat. C’mon,” he squeezes your hand where it lies on the counter, smiling lightly.

It takes everything in you not to flinch away from the touch.

“Wouldn’t want your breakfast goin’ cold now, would we?” Pulling out the barstool beside you, he sits.

You don’t ask him to, but Caleb picks up your fork and embodies one of the several memories you have of him spoonfeeding you as a child.

“I can feed you. Just like the good ol’ times. Here, you gotta open your mouth first,” His smile strengthens when your lips, as if by habit, part. Your lashes flutter shut when that first bite touches your tongue- syrupy hotcakes and fluffy scrambled eggs- and for that you’re glad because you don’t have to see the way he marvels at you as you eat.

It’s not good for your heart.

“So? What does Pipsqueak the number one food critic have to say about my dish?” He shines, “Does it taste as good as it looks?” You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes- the scene too nostalgic to simply idle away with indifference. You wear all your emotions on your face, anyway; you’re not fooling anybody, least of all Caleb.

“Even better,” you murmur with the barest of smiles. He presses another spoonful to your lips and you giggle.

Violet hues glitter with delight. You’ve said practically nothing to him this whole time, and he’s been patient- weirdly patient, almost- but the joy in his gaze is palpable now.

Sometimes, though, you can almost swear you see something in his gaze shift. Tuning itself like a lens. He blinks and it disappears.

“…But I will say your presentation could use some work. It’s a 7 out of 10.”

Caleb, still holding the utensil out, uses his other hand to prop his chin up. He smiles fondly as he regards you. As you’ve gotten older, it’s like every time you see the brunet, he looks at you like he’s taking you in for the first time all over again.

“Yeah?” He encourages. “Enlighten me, oh Pipsqueak- what must I do to earn those three extra points?”

“The ketchup smiley face was all lopsided,” you explain in a quiet voice, having a hard time fully immersing in this lie unraveling before you; beautiful as it is. As much as you might ache to.

This isn’t a good idea. You know that.

Still…

Maybe… maybe just a couple of conversations with him can’t be too bad, right? I mean, it’s only a fraction of what Gideon was expecting of you (lounging around together to chat, game nights, and even public outings), but to him, it’d be a start. For you, though, it’s a stretch. An exception.

You should limit interaction with not-Caleb.

You know this, and yet—

Glancing back to him, you try and fail to hide a coy smile with a napkin. “Next time, keep a steady hand, and you’ll be a perfect chef in no time. Maybe not as good as me, but, y’know…”

He chuckles, brows lifting. “Oh yeah? Then expect surgical precision from me tomorrow morning. Chef Caleb won’t let you down again!”

An intense sadness slips through the momentary happiness you were allowed. It nags at your chest.

You blink rapidly, giving a feeble, light sound before looking away.

You’ve never let me down, Gege, you don’t say, taking your fork from the clasp of his big hand (much to his dismay) to prod at your plate.

It was me who failed you.

✦

Not-Caleb looks like Caleb, yes.

He acts like him, too.

You spend the span of the next few weeks trying to scrutinize him; hours spent on the couch, his hand in yours while you grill him. You treat him like a bug under a microscope. Prodding for answers to questions you’re sure his programming must miss- interrogations built on memories so old they’re near ancient. Just blurry wisps in your mind.

Not-Caleb remembers some better than you.

Puts you to shame with his mechanical replies detailing scenarios you’re missing fragments of.

What’s Caleb’s favorite fruit?

I like apples, Pipsqueak.

And what’s my favorite food he’d make for me?

Easy-peasy. You still love those boneless chicken wings, don’t you? Although, that braised pork I make for you comes as a close second, doesn’t it?

Am I your real sister?

And you’d never ask the real Caleb such a thing. You’re only doing it now because it’s one of the most personal things you could possibly make a query of. His response would be very telling.

Life before you met him all those years ago is no more than a fuzzy glimpse, and you never minded all that much: so long as you had Caleb, nothing else, nothing before, mattered. All throughout your childhood, people didn’t know the difference anyway.

Far as they knew, you were family.

Which… isn’t wrong, per se— but it’s not biological. ‘Real.’

You, Caleb, and Gran were obviously aware of that. To you it was always a beautiful thing: a tale of rebirth, in a way, or a second chance, as a young girl found a new place to call home with a warm guardian and a brotherly figure. They’d stabilize her and bring warmth to an otherwise cold beginning.

Caleb was never spoken for on that front.

You… didn’t see eye to eye on all things. Oh, that much is true.

Sometimes you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with the assumption that you were his little sister (albeit, you were never sure why). At others, it was like he was furious you were only bound to him in name and not blood. He saw it as an attack on your close bond.

…But Not-Caleb surely doesn’t know all his nuances. Not like you came to.

So you’re expecting a pause. A minor glitch or even a malfunction as the robot scours his database.

Got him, you almost think to yourself— then swiftly take it back.

The face of the android sat at your side falls, much to your surprise, into a small frown.

And the truth must be coded deep in the bulwarks of not-Caleb’s artificial brain: your and Caleb’s respective origins. The answer is no. No, you’re not his real sister.

…But your real Gege would lie and say yes, absolutely you are—

“‘Course you are,” Not-Caleb goes. And he does it with as much passion behind it as you’d expect.

You’re startled into silence.

He scoots impossibly closer and loops an arm over your shoulder, tucking your head to his jaw. Seamlessly, he pecks your hairline, saying, “You’re my sweet little Meimei. You’re priceless to me. Now no more pickin’ at me, okay?” He suggests in a light tone, rubbing your shoulder. “You’ve been questioning me all evening- look, it even got dark out. Let’s get you to bed-“

“I- I didn’t say I was tired-“

“You didn’t have to. I could tell you were startin’ to get sleepy, Pipsqueak,” he looks down at you and smiles- a reassuring, yet no less playful smile- and for one moment you cant breathe because fuck it’s him. It’s really, really him. “Your drooping eyes were a dead giveaway. Hm... I guess that big dinner we had put you in a food coma, huh?” He chuckles.

We. Funny, that. You recall the feast being one-sided.

Nonetheless.

Without prompting, he sweeps you off the couch and walks you up the wooden stairway. The old steps creak underfoot. He does it all effortlessly, though, arms as strong and capable as you remember.

You loop your slimmer ones around his neck.

With great hesitance, you lend a part of yourself to this illusion.

This beautiful, near unbelievable, oh-so fragile illusion that Caleb is not dead.

When you reach your bedroom, you don’t send him off to the guest room like all the nights before. No, when he carefully sets you down, you watch him, motionlessly, as he tucks you in and plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he turns to go- “don’t let the bed bugs bite”- you snatch his hand, half terrified you’ll blink and he’ll be gone, and flash him a look that silently pleads.

Stay.

The brunet’s lashes flutter, brushing over his cheekbones where the lamplight makes them shine.

He opens his mouth.

Pauses, then closes it.

“Stay. Please, Gege,” you breathe, on the cusp of shattering all over again. It’s become more manageable over recent days, this unresolved cluster of emotion inside you, but it’s times like these that make you feel blindsided by it.

You innocently add, “Like when we were kids.”

Oh, you’d go back to then if you could.

His long fingers, loose in your hold, flip to swallow up your hand. He stoops over to turn off the light.

His voice shakes ever so slightly, “Okay.”

Then, he clambers into bed with you and reminds you of just how small it is, how much he does not belong, but you’ve never felt more at home when he pulls you to his chest and- dutifully ignoring the quiet beneath your ear, the absence of a pulse- you cling to him.

Maybe it’d be a little weird, the proximity, what with your grown age and the fact that you were no longer children cuddling during thunderstorms…

It’s not like you’re hanging off him like he’s your lifeline for any nefarious reason, though- and it’s not like he can hold any judgment anyway. He’s… He’s not really Caleb. He’s not even a person. Just a sentient robot that resembles him to a shocking degree and soothes that ache in your chest- just by a smidge.

…And yet when he looks at you, suddenly, tilting your jaw up so he can admire what he sees in the darkness- your stunned expression lit faintly by the moon- it’s like he’s reading this in his own way.

His interpretation? you realize in a shaking breath?

He’s no longer holding his little sister, but a woman.

It’s in his eyes, rippling as he exhales deeply (all artificial, albeit you don’t dwell on that for long) and thumbs over your lip.

A boyish kind of wonder lifts his brow as he stares, cheeks slightly flushed.

Your heart bangs in your chest. Like gunshots punctuating the silence. It grows to be unbearable. This is weird, and wrong- the way he’s looking at you. But you quickly chalk it up to a malfunction.

It’s all a fluke, technology fucking up in a way that reminds you of humanity’s shortcomings and how far they can only go.

Finally, you’ve found the fault in its design. The place where Caleb and not-Caleb differ.

You know your beloved older brother like the back of your own hand, so when his eyes flutter (flash, almost) and he lurches forward to clumsily press his lips to yours— you label the action for what it really is.

An inaccuracy.

Perhaps, you think as you close your bleared eyes and let him, the only. Because the rest of his program is perfect. Infallible.

The scene unfurling is foreign- his big hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you like his life depends on it- but as he shifts you beneath him and hovers atop, that signature softness remains. Really, as his fingertips reach for your shorts—

(A blip of something mechanical in its fiery gaze, almost as if it’s trying to rectify itself; the shortest of pauses—)

It’s all that grounds you.

“Caleb,” you moan, or cry. You don’t know. Just that when he helps you out of your panties to go down on you, digits delving inside your tight hole after he wets it with his tongue, your heart sings for him.

You don’t push him away. No, even as the humanoid sullies your late brother’s image with all his sinful hungering, you can’t break yourself free. Never find it in you to.

Because it doesn’t matter what he treats you as. You realize belatedly, with no small amount of horror, that you don’t even care how many flaws Not-Caleb has. He could have a million for all you care, you’re already too far gone- writhing underneath him as he holds your legs open and feasts- to pretend you have any right to feel offended.

And if the real Caleb was here, he’d hate you: an echo in your skull, sneering. He should, but-

“There, Meimei, ngh…” a hot tongue (no longer as cold as he was in stasis) laves along your folds. Mauve eyes look up to you with reverence, glittering in the dark.

“Just like that. Moan, say my name- I’ve been waiting for this for so long…”

You wear ignorance like a blindfold. Shutting your eyes and ears.

A fluke. His hardware stalling.

His hair woven in your fingers feels like velvet. Soft, silky; hanging over his brow as he eats you out- skillfully, might you add. Albeit his passion wins out by just a touch against his expertise, clumsily plunging his two middle fingers into your pussy.

“You taste so good, so sweet- mmph- I’ll take care of you, okay?” He mumbles in between lewd squelches.

In both physical and moral terms, there is not one thing about this that isn’t filthy.

Y-You know that, but…

“Don’t worry. I’ll- ah- I’ll make sure you feel real nice. I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I’ve been… dreamin’ of this for years now… I won’t mess this up, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes until you’re shaking.”

-but this is all you have left of him.

Hazily, you glance down to him, cheeks aflame, and barely succeed in asking, “C-Caleb- h-how are you even gonna-? You-“ you choke on the words you need to say. With a mite of dry humor, you think right then that you’re short-circuiting just as bad as him (because he is).

“Are you capable of it?”

Of fucking you? Of pinning you down and throwing your ankles over his shoulders to better plow you into your creaking, old mattress?

His brow twitches slightly. Voice ragged, he makes an agreeable sound, pressing a kiss to your clit so adoring it’s almost funny when his finger bends sensually inside you. “Are you doubting my abilities, Meimei? I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing this moment in my head for—“

No. You slam your eyes shut and drown it all out.

His words become a white noise. No different than the steady whir of the air conditioning as a cool breeze gusts beneath your door, cooling your forehead where it beads with sweat.

A- A glitch, you quietly decide. Even long after he’s made you cum thrice (twice on his fingers and tongue, once on his thick, flushed cock), you hold staunch to that.

It’s all just a fluke.

✦

When the sun rises, you wake with a start to a phone ringing- yours- and swallow a lump of unease at the figure lying beside you (your Gege, a voice in your head reminds: you silence it).

Prying off the solid arm around your waist to gingerly exit the room- still half-naked- you piously ignore the cum caked to the inside of your thighs. Yours, it must be. You don’t focus on the confusion, either, the ask of just how the hell last night was possible and why you let your emotions get ahold of you.

(Because you love him. And maybe, just maybe- in your own weird, admittedly morally-grey way- you can cobble together a sense of normalcy with him. At least just for a little bit...)

As you head to the living room downstairs, you tap your phone and lift it to your ear.

“G-Gran,” you say as greeting, smoothing your hair back, still quite ruffled over… recent events. Ruffled and ashamed.

Very.

But- while he looks like Caleb, he’s not in reality. That… malfunction last night is a blatant proof of that. You only got on your back and let him have his way with you because you’ve missed his touch so much that you’d quite literally accept it in any form.

If sex or his lips battling against yours- his whispered vows, as seemingly heartfelt as they were errant to Caleb’s true character- is all you’ll get of him, then so be it.

In your own way, messed up as it is, it’s almost like with his android, you get a chance to reconcile with the loss.

To say goodbye.

Because before that package arrived at your doorstep, you didn’t have the luxury of one.

A familiar, aged voice sounds over the line. “Hey, dearie, oh- I didn’t wake you, did I? You sound tired.” She’s one to talk, you think to yourself- but not with malice. Truth be told you’ve worried for her as of late.

It’s been lonely for you both, you’re sure, but even though she only lives on the other end of Linkon, you have trouble making the drive. You haven’t dropped by in a couple weeks.

There’s a few different reasons.

It’s hard to pretend you’re fine when you’re not, for one, that what happened with Caleb- the abruptness and lack of conclusion, the confusing aftermath of it all- never did. You try your best to plaster on a smile and be strong in your grandmother’s presence, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when that old house of hers is jam-packed with photos and tokens of your past with him— painful reminders whenever you do visit.

The newest excuse for not is guilt.

Frankly, Gideon is the only one who knows what’s going on. Hah- no surprise, being he was the main reason for your even ordering not-Caleb.

But Gran doesn’t know.

You haven’t told her about him. And after last night, what with your own release still dried to your legs (which wobble slightly; he was every bit passionate and then some), you don’t think you ever will.

She might actually slap you across the face, taking your willingness to believe in such a lie as an offense against her grandson’s vibrant character.

…If she found out what happened- that you opened your legs for him and moaned- she might go into cardiac arrest.

You didn’t… want that to happen, definitely not- I mean, you didn’t even have the time to prepare. But yes, you did let it.

And curse yourself for wanting your brother back, but—

“No, it’s fine, Gran,” you glance over your shoulder to the staircase. Finding it empty, you let out a breath. “Is something wrong? It’s… It’s early.”

—you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little fucking blissful to wake up to his face again, just like back when you were inseparable kids.

She sighs on the other end, “no, no,” she starts. You think you hear a TV in the background; something to fill the silence you leave her to sit in. “Nothing’s wrong, my dear. I just… I haven’t seen you in a bit. I miss your face, Y/n. How are you doing?”

Like a dart to a board, guilt lands its mark.

You shouldn’t fluster at such a simple question, but you do. Not just because it’s so direct and genuine, but because a big hand rests over your shoulder and suddenly Caleb is there, standing behind you.

You straighten up from where you’re propped against the wall and quickly lift a hand to silence any words he may speak.

“I-I’m well, Gran. Sorry, just- I’ll visit soon, I promise.”

“I’d like that,” she murmurs. You’re aware of how much she means it and close your eyes with a wince. A broad palm, as if sensing your inner turmoil, rubs your shoulder soothingly.

You rub the bridge of your nose and don’t look.

“What’s… What’s been keeping you?” She broaches after a beat. Laughter from the television fades in and out over the speaker.

For a second, you freeze. You freeze because you fear she might know.

All for naught: “You’re getting enough sleep, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, sweetie- oh, God knows we’ve both suffered all these months without Caleb, but that’s no reason for us to fall apart either-”

You sigh shakily and bite down on a cry.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been better, Gran, okay? I…” Shiftily, you wet your bottom lip and give a half truth- as if that can relieve you of this weight. “I was talking with Gideon a little; he’s…. he helped me.”

She sounds pleasantly surprised. “Oh? Good, good. What about?”

Nosy as ever. Not that you’re complaining. It’s good to know someone cares- someone… real.

You swallow your unease. “He was just talking to me about his job and stuff. EVER... He told me he was finally getting that raise or whatever, so he’s doing well... I- I was prying per usual,” you joke to lighten the mood, “He, uh… he tells me more than Caleb ever did, so…” (And when his name started to feel like a sin to say, you don’t know.) “So, you know. I was just curious. He was checking in on me, too…”

Warm breath fans at your ear, fingers closing around your shoulder as he peppers kisses at your neck insistently- and you shudder. Clasping the phone tighter (because it suddenly feels unstable in your hands), you shrug off (not)Caleb for just long enough to say,

“Gran- I- I gotta go. Uh- someone else is calling me,” and to preclude any probing on her end- or extra guilt on yours- you add, “I’ll visit tomorrow, okay? I promise. I’ll- I’ll be there. I love you.”

A voice timidly mirrors it back, and then a big set of hands is taking the phone from you and ending the call.

You turn to him with a notch in your brow as he pockets it in the sweats he must’ve hastily thrown on after finding the bed empty.

“Caleb-“

You start, and his lips press to yours.

With some encouragement- hushing you between kisses, knuckling down your cheek affectionately- he shepherds you back upstairs, to your room.

“Nuh-uh, just let me take care of you, pretty girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, smiling. You could die in peace to it, you think hazily as he lies you down— because the last mental screenshot you took of him before the accident was his handsome face crestfallen after you’d said something scathing.

To your defense, at the time, you thought he’d deserved it. Maybe he did. It’s hard to remember, but whatever the argument was about, it must’ve been stupid. Not worth it.

And… he’s not Caleb, he’s not, you know that, but…

“Lie back. It’s… It’s just you and me here. I want you to know that. And everyone else-“

(Gran, you realize he must mean; Gideon and all the other familiar and unfamiliar faces both at EVER.)

“None of it matters now. Just focus on me. On Caleb.”

(And how eerie is that? You muse with a whit of your rationale. The rest, as it withers, perhaps only does so for the sake of your own sanity.)

The whole world as it stands: nudged away to oblivion at his behest.

“O-Okay,” you give.

He’s not Caleb. But if this is your best- only- shot at reconciliation, then you’ll take him with arms open.

…

When he’s done priming you, he clambers on top and you experience a repeat of last night.

Deja vu, as fresh as a wound reopened, makes your mind lag a few increments behind reality. But when he starts to slow down, thrusts growing sloppy- it feels oddly real, and, head a bit clearer than last night, you register that.

…But it’s your release that stains the sheets. Steadily trickling from your hole, slicking his hips. It only makes sense that way; he might fuck like a human, but that’s all inherent to his program, you’re sure, built to please- and ultimately, he’s made of metal. Rods. You think you can feel them when you grab too tight, that hardness.

He leads you to the proverbial end of the cliff, and you survey the bottom one last time before- geronimo- you make that final leap.

When not-Caleb comes, he shudders in your arms.

Yet you swear… You swear something inside him, behind his lidded eyes, deeper in-

It’s like it shutters.

A flash. Brief and jarring, for a moment so bright it’s like your eyes have been virginal to light all along.

Just a malfunction, you decide with a spent sigh, sweaty in his solid arms as they make a cage around you, eager to sleep until noon.

Maybe you’ll mention it to Gideon next time he drops by.

Maybe he would know how to fix it.

✦

The days that follow after are foggy and empty. Like a moratorium of everything that once breathed in your life.

You wreathe not-Caleb’s neck with that beloved apple-shaped locket like he’s earned it.

Knowing nobody ever could.

✦

Gideon knocks, one afternoon.

You send him away. Or- Caleb does.

At that, you feel the need to remind him of who he is: the people he cares for, his career path, how he operated as a person before the incident in his suite in Skyhaven.

Caleb stops you short, a palm dwarfing the back of your own, and says I know. I just don’t want my buddy interrupting our time together, Pipsqueak. Can you blame me for wantin’ it to be just you and me?

You stop going out.

He doesn’t let you- not really. I mean, he doesn’t explicitly declare these rules over you, but it’s in the strange glint in his eye- the one that makes you shut your mouth and purse your lips- when he stops you at the door and suggests you stay.

Says it’s better that way. Says he worries whenever you go. Says to take him with you instead if you really must.

Progressively, you’re drifting farther and farther out from shore. Mentally-speaking, you’re going off the deep end. But exiting your house hand-in-hand with your brother- the man the town declared dead in an email you couldn’t bear to finish reading- as he stares at you like a lover, is, no matter the ache, something you can’t quite bring yourself to do.

It’d make this illusion just a smidgen realer. You’d never wake from this dream if other people saw it- saw him- and therefore made his presence more solid in your mind. (Not to mention the disgusting assumptions they’d make- none exactly wrong.)

You’ve been so consumed by grief lately, though, that the knowing of your imminent breakdown can’t stop you from making other bad choices.

So when the brunet altogether bars you from going out in public for the fear that something bad will happen to you (nonsensical; not that he sees the flaws in his arguments), insisting that groceries can be bought online, Gran can be checked up on over the phone, etcetera—

Yeah, you bend to it, alright? Sue you. Of course you bend. It’s all you know what to do anymore.

Gradually, though, the unexpected charm of not-Caleb begins to fade, and you’re left with a possessive form of the brother you once knew. A man desperately clawing at straws, hellbent to keep you at his side, clingy and insecure and, frankly, sometimes scary.

As the inaccuracies build, you’re not sure for how much longer you can overlook them.

The only reason you even tolerated him originally was because he was passable. More than that, even- he was perfect. A dead-ringer for Caleb in both appearance and personality.

But this-

This isn’t Caleb. No longer. It never was.

You don’t believe it for a second.

You heave a soft sigh. Anything louder than a breath brings the chance that he’ll overhear from where he stands in the kitchen and come zipping over, no doubt ready to fret and question you. If you value your time alone- rare as it is these days- then you’ll stay silent.

It’s a near impossible task to separate yourself from him. It was a small miracle in itself that you managed to break away for half an hour or so- but even that was begat by a lie. It seems the only real way to rid yourself of the overly doting, obsessive older brother (even if just for a few minutes) is to give him another demand. This time, it was an ‘I’m hungry’ that finally earned you some peace and quiet.

It’s a little sad, but lately you treat him more or less like a jacket after entering a warm home: you’re eager to shrug him off because the climate has changed.

The climate has changed.

He- He’s changed.

He’s growingly insane and yes, while the irony of that observation isn’t lost on you (considering you’re the mad woman who bought a human-like robot as a replacement in the first place), you still can’t help but feel alarmed as the signs of wrongness don’t cease but worsen.

You think about pressing the button. Turning him off, sending him away.

Hell, maybe you’d just dump him in the communal trash receptacles out back. Leave him there in a human-shaped bag for the garbage men to come and squint at before hauling away like junk.

…Because he is junk, right? No different than a crumb on the floor, you’d once said.

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

The section of your brain responsible for caring must’ve shut off, though, because it’s currently hard to feel much of anything.

…But there, like a soft stirring (or the voice of God as it whispered to Elijah)- you can sense it. That feeling is reminiscent of a survival instinct, or a watered-down version of it to tired nerves, breathing down the back of your neck where hackles rise—

What are you doing here?

The dream begins to fissure in real-time when Caleb (not-Caleb, you harshly remind yourself) cheerfully patters into the living room where you sit, helpful as ever, and his eye flashes as it settles on you. No different than a camera would.

The food looks delicious, per usual- you’d expect nothing less of your brother or even the robotic copy of him- but as nausea churns in your belly and you jolt upright, slapping a hand over your mouth as you run to the bathroom, nothing can save your appetite.

You shakily lock the door- but he’s knocking in an instant, worried.

You always did melt at his bleeding heart. Too often, men, especially the bigger of them, fell under the persuasion of apathy. Yet your gege was always different, always sweet, always gentle and patient and- yeah, okay, sometimes he was a touch mean, teasing to a fault- sometimes to the point of tears on your end as he quickly tried to right his wrongs- but he was preciously yours.

And he was real.

Dammit, he was fucking real-

He was alive and emotionally tangible in a way that this awful fucking hunk of metal is not and never will be—

“Pipsqueak-? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Let me in. A-Are you not feeling well?” His words crack when you say nothing, dutifully ignoring him.

“Y/n… Let me in. Please-! don’t leave me alone, don’t go.” His voice becomes ragged, raw, the longer you don’t answer. Boyish in its vulnerability. “Stay- Stay here with me.”

By God your soul splinters down the middle. But you don’t answer. You- You can’t.

You throw your lunch up in the toilet and then your back against the wall, sliding down it with your hands over your ears like a child.

You don’t care, if he’s shouting and beating at the door, on the brink of hysteria like you’ve heard only once or twice when he was a boy too soft for his own good- you don’t care- you don’t care—

You sit there until he short-circuits out and thuds to the floor.

You flinch when he does.

Only then, however, do you tiptoe out- careful lest you trigger some internal response from him- to quickly pull on a hoodie and put your hair up, locking the front door behind you.

You don’t know for how long he’ll be conked out, but if luck is on your side, it’ll be for long enough to run to the local corner store and buy a pregnancy test.

You know you’re losing it, the little sanity you had left after your brother passed— misreading a common cold for a veritable child swelling in your womb.

It’s laughable: using your sleeve (another old piece of his clothing you ‘borrowed’, never to be returned) to dot away the tears at your lashline, you do laugh on the short trek to the convenience store.

But if not a reminder that you really are going crazy, losing control, then at least it’s just an opportunity to get some fresh air for a bit, right?

(…You also know that the first step to regaining back said control is to say goodbye to not-Caleb.

As it stands, though, you’re just-

You were never ready.)

✦

Two pink lines.

The thing clatters to the bathroom floor, and you along with it.

You sink to your knees and the white walls surrounding you feel more like an asylum than a space in your own house- because yes, you must be delusional. This is the final nail in the coffin.

But this- this can’t be right. It’s impossible. In the strictest sense of the word it’s impossible!

Heavy feet traipse in the kitchen; the livingroom; the hall, searching for you with faint, candied beckons of your name.

You rub your face as if to feel the color as it seeps from your complexion, and tell yourself that you’ve positively lost it as you thoughtlessly choose one of the corners to slump into, hyperventilating.

You’ll- you’ll send it back to EVER... You’ll send it back and forget and move on. You’ll move on. You’ll stop grieving, you’ll squirrel away your fraying, final memories of Caleb like you did all those precious photos in that old shoebox in your closet.

You’ll-…

A breath. The fan whirs.

The faucet, going full-blast, sputters, effectively drowning out the sounds you make as air becomes a tricky thing to intake; thick enough to choke on.

You’ll throw yourself into the fifth stage of grief then crawl out the other side of it if that’s what it takes to undo this fucking reality you’re lost in-

“Pipsqueak?” A hand on your shoulder.

Broad, big. A little weathered.

But gentle always. Gentle always. Just like you remember. Just like when Caleb meant Caleb; not the big glorified toy that walks and acts like him as an admittedly convincing, yet ultimately faux locum.

Your heart stills, hanging pendant in your chest. You swing from that uncertainty. By God you’d beat that handsome face in- oh, but by God would you kiss it, too.

The door sways on its hinge by splintered fragments, creaking behind the brunet.

Timidly, you lift your head over your shoulder to meet his eye where he towers behind you, violet hues softening with concern. They drift lower, honing in on the little item by your knee, wayward.

He coos immediately, enveloping you in his strong arms.

The feeling- it’s not exactly like that of the one you’d get while swimming in a hot tub, engulfed in its steaming waters, but it’s not too far off either. You let him hold you, unseeing as he all but sings in your ear, and restore the warmth to your bones.

Like a dead thing, or prey, you hang limp in his firm grasp. Terribly uncertain.

“Shh…” he croons, and you only realize a belated moment later that you’re crying. Hard and ugly.

He pets down your hair, ever the comforter, and as you press your head against his barrel chest it’s almost like you can hear a faint whirring in lieu of a heartbeat- speedy but low.

Unreal. Unreal. But then how-?

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

“We’ll figure it out together, honey,” you think it’s a barely concealed smile you register at the crown of your head, pasting down a kiss. “But no more cryin’, okay? I can’t stand to see you like this… Let me draw you a bath, hm? I’ll light some candles and we can talk about it. But don’t be scared. This is… such good news,” and then he laughs- a boyish, marveling little laugh that digs deep into your heart and twists.

The button, between his breastbone, just out of reach, glows faintly through his shirt.

For a moment you’re ready to press it like a player would on a game show— with urgency— but you blink and see those two pink lines searing themselves into your conscience.

Defeatedly, you shut your eyes. But you don’t shut him off.

✦

With Caleb preparing dinner, you’re able to slip away one evening for long enough to call Gran.

For worried friends and relatives, your voicemail box is becoming quite the hotbed- but among them, your grandmother is the priority.

Propping yourself by the sliding glass door, you brush back the curtain and look out to the small, cookie-cutter yard as you accept the call. Not without a shaky breath to prepare you, though; it’s been over a month since your last visit, and while your calls haven’t been quite as behind, you still wince a bit every time her contact pops up.

You want to tell her.

If not about Caleb, then at least the small bump forming beneath your oversized lounge shirt. There’s excuses for it- ones to be frowned upon, yes, but they’d be believable nonetheless. Obviously, a pregnancy is not something as simple to hide as a robot you can turn on and off and, if needed, stuff in the coat closet until the coast is clear.

You want to tell her. But-

You purse your lips, answering, “Hey Gran.”

The tone of her voice, frazzled and barely holding together, sends a chill down your spine.

“Y/n- where have you been? Is everything okay? I’ve been- I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

You digest that information with a quirk of your brow, scanning across the lawn outside, and a thick swallow.

There’s the voicemails, sure; it was only two nights ago you were poring over them all and holding back tears of guilt. But this afternoon? It was quiet- almost blissfully so, spent curled up to Caleb’s chest on the sofa as you watched an old favorite movie and he happily fed you fruit-flavored candies from his hand every so often.

Nobody called, let alone multiple times. You’re sure of it.

“Gran- what? No, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” You start, tossing a nervous glance behind you, internally grateful that Caleb’s absent humming while he chopped veggies was too distant for the phone to pick up.

She blusters out, apropos of nothing, “Is he there with you?”

Something in you stills.

“Y/n- is he there with you?”

An abnormal rush of blood to your ears and a murmur of your heart as you stand confused. The fingers curled around your phone case jitter.

You hold it closer to your ear.

“What? What are you talking about? I-Is who here with me?”

Does she- There’s no fucking chance- does she know?

How?

Chest thumping, your pulse fluttering in the column of your throat as it bobs uncertainly, you begin to wonder to yourself if this is the time you come clean, lay all your sins out like cards on a table. Make the confession.

Push has come to shove, you think. And fuck if you know where all this is coming from on her end, if Gideon told her or she just miraculously put two and two together or-

An exhale on her end, shaking on its way out.

“Were you not told? Dear-“ she broaches, louder, more firm— and this is just milliseconds before the world as you know it- the one you freed of your hands and let reshape itself around a delicate delusion- buckles at the knees. It’s right before you do, too.

“They found him. They found Caleb.”

That breath, right afterward of her telling you, is like the first one after drowning.

Your eyes widen as you break the surface.

His- His body. The tinny footage they dredged up from the area showed he entered his home, but after the explosion, there was no sign of him, no ash no corpse no nothing— So you don’t know how the hell they managed to recover his pieces, let alone after they already ran clean-up crews through the charred infrastructure and hosed it down- but you’re hysterical at the news.

You were cruelly forced, all along, to just assume he’d been burned to nothingness.

So you don’t even care about the how. How it’s possible or how this is happening after several months of white noise and hurting on your end— you don’t care.

You were made to come to terms with his death, and you did, at most, acknowledge it- but evidently, you could never quite accept it.

…If this is your final chance to say goodbye- even if it just means peering over a metal table in the morgue as he lies disheveled, hardly recognizable under a sheet- so fucking be it.

You’ll say goodbye if it kills you.

“What-? Where- where?” Your tone reflects as much, urgent as you stagger over to the sofa, nearly tripping as you reach for the jacket slung over the arm.

“I-Im coming,” you croak out, words failing you as the velvety carpet feels like mud beneath your bare feet- hard to walk across, every step making you feel like a baby taking its first ones.

One second you’re navigating a truth so unbelievable it’s near violent as it barrels into you; in the next, you’re collapsing under the weight of it, too caught up in your own scrambling for your keys and the door to even think of not-Caleb.

Gran goes to timidly say something, but your ears are shot and you quickly interject, “Let me get dressed- I-I’ll be there! Is he at the morgue?”

“Oh, no, honey,” she quavers out, “He’s alive. The town just messaged me; they made a mistake with his death certificate- they’re revoking it as we speak. He’s in Skyhaven.”

The phone drops to the floor.

And then that, too, gives way beneath you.

…It’s good a helping hand is there for you, then. Shouldering your weight without prompting- fretful as he confiscates the device, no different than a teacher with an unruly student, swiftly disconnecting the call.

It tuts in your ear, but- more sober than you’ve ever been- you can only note the sympathy practically dripping from its tone for what it really is: the upshot of its near immaculate programming as it mimics your considerate gege to a T.

Not-Caleb noses against your nape and sighs.

Mutely, you wind a hand, tottering, uncoordinated fingers and all, behind your back to grope along his chest—

He easily gathers both your wrists in his palm, “hey now,” turning you around. He lifts your knuckles up for a chaste kiss, watching you intently all the while.

A cold weight settles over you, soaking you through like meat left overnight to marinate. From the kitchen, stirfry sizzles in the pan. A few moments more of it and the smoke detectors will fire off.

…He just leans in to peck your forehead though, deaf to the sirens you hear wailing in your head, having mastered the art of playing dumb long ago.

He murmurs, as cloying as cake frosting, “C’mon, Pipsqueak, let’s go eat. Dinner’ll be done in just a sec. I made one of your favorites. After that, we can sit around the couch and brainstorm some more names for the baby- what d’you think?”

Flukes, malfunctions, glitches— no; Not-Caleb, you realize right then, ceasing to blink as you stare at its prototype through the shifting lens head-on, was never flawed.

“…But you’re not leavin’, not to him.”

The real one was.

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

QUESTIONS&ANSWERS HERE

[sylvieisoffline]

I'M HERE AGAIN

[cherryscript]

₊˚⊹ᰔ TOYED WITH EACH OTHER ᝰ.ᐟ

❞ featuring ⠾ gege!caleb

i suggest reading prequel of this fic— SOULMATE? HOLEMATE! —for better understanding.

❞ summary ⠾ You and Caleb reunite at Gran’s house and BOOM—turns out those sketchy toys were secretly linking your dicks and pussies the whole time. Months of ghost-fucking each other? Mutual. Both virgins? Also mutual. Gran leaves for 3 days? → instant horny apocalypse. You two lose your V-cards in the most depraved, “gege/meimei” way possible :3

❞ wc ⠾ 7.7k

❞ content warnings ⠾ pseudocest, heavy og “gege / meimei” / big brother-little sister dynamic, explicit smut, heavy dubcon, usage of toys, toys connected to each other's dick and pussy (portal panties), virginity loss, oral (m! receiving), toy play, double penetration via toy + real cock, squirting, creampie, face-sitting, spanking, cum play, overstimulation, rough sex, voyeurism, theft of panties, reader's a brat, possessiveness, emotional intensity, overall just straight up filth with plot

❞ cherry’s note ⠾ thanks to @kingraspberry12-blog for commissioning this piece. I never thought I'd drag my ass down to actually write a part two but it is what it is. Here's the most awaited part two of soulmate?holemate!. I've lost count of how many times I've crashed out during this fic lol. My brain's so fried actually, need to sleep it off.

The summer drags like molasses this year, thick and sticky, every hour stretching longer than it has any right to. Maybe it’s the heat rolling in off the Bloomshore coast, maybe it’s Gran’s ancient air-conditioner wheezing like it’s on its last legs, or maybe—more likely—it’s because you’ve spent the last two days fucking a perfect silicone replica of your gege’s cock in the room right next to his, walls so thin you can hear the creak of his mattress when he shifts in his sleep.

You’re both on the living-room couch now, same faded floral pattern you used to fight over as kids, same throw blanket draped over your knees like nothing’s changed. Except everything has. The space between your thigh and his feels charged, electric, like the air itself is holding its breath. Neither of you looks directly at the other. Your eyes keep sliding to the TV screen—some mindless rerun neither of you is watching—then dart away before they can land on his profile, on the sharp line of his jaw, the way sweat beads at his temple and trails down the side of his neck.

Caleb breaks first.

He clears his throat, the sound rough, like it’s been stuck there for hours.

“Hey, pipsqueak…” His voice is lower than usual, careful. “How’s life out in Linkon? Big city, more people, all that noise?”

He chuckles, soft and awkward, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s nervous. You used to tease him about it. Now it just makes your stomach twist.

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss your gege anymore…”

You glance up—too fast. His cheeks are flushed, a faint pink creeping up from his collar. He looks… shy. Almost boyish. It’s so unfair.

Your own face burns hotter. You look away quick, huffing a breath through your nose like it’ll cool you down.

“How can I not miss you…”

The words slip out quieter than you mean them to. You press your lips together hard, trapping everything else that wants to follow.

You miss him so much it hurts.

You miss you in ways you're not supposed to.

You miss you so bad you shove his dick—fake, warm, veiny, perfect—inside you every night and cry his name into the pillow while you hug that stupid apple plushie he won for you at the fair when you were fourteen. You clamp down around it until your thighs shake and your vision whites out, pretending it’s his arms pinning you, his chest against your back, his breath on your neck. You come so hard you sob, and then you feel guilty for hours, but you still do it again the next night. Because you're broken and you want him and you hate yourself for it.

But you don’t say any of that. You just stare at your knees and let the silence thicken.

Gran’s voice saves you both.

“Kids!”

You jump. Caleb straightens like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

She’s standing in the doorway, dressed in her going-out blouse, small rolling suitcase at her side.

“I’m headed downtown for three days. Something came up. Emergency stuff. You two will be fine, right? Like always.”

She’s said the same thing a hundred times over the years. Back then it meant popcorn fights and falling asleep to horror movies on the couch. Now the words land differently. Heavier.

The front door clicks shut behind her. The sound echoes.

Suddenly the house feels too quiet. Too big. Too empty except for him.

You’re hyper-aware of every inch of Caleb next to you. The sleeveless shirt clings to his chest from the humidity, dark at the collar where sweat’s gathered. His shorts ride up just enough to show the thick muscle of his thighs. His arms—God, his arms—flex every time he shifts, biceps rounding, veins standing out against his skin. He’s broader than last summer, taller, filled out in all the ways that make your mouth dry and your core ache.

You stare out the window at the garden like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking at him.

He notices.

Caleb chuckles again, softer this time, and reaches out. One finger brushes your cheek—light, teasing, the same way he used to when you pouted as a kid.

“Aww, is my meimei sad? Mm… I’m here. We can spend some quality time together—”

The touch is barely there, but it burns straight down your spine. Your whole body jerks away like you’ve been shocked.

Caleb freezes, finger still hovering in the air. His eyes widen.

“Pipsqueak… are you okay?”

You can’t look at him. Your face is on fire, heart slamming so hard you’re sure he can hear it. Your nipples are already tight under your thin tank top, traitorously visible, and you cross your arms quickly to hide them.

“I’m—fine,” you mumble, staring at the floor. “Just… hot.”

He swallows. You hear it—the dry click of his throat. His gaze drops for half a second, catches the outline of your nipples, then snaps away like he’s been burned too.

“Right. Uh… yeah. Hot.” He exhales, rough. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen. Lemme know what you want for lunch.”

He stands. The couch dips and rises with his weight. You watch his back as he walks away—broad shoulders rolling under the shirt, the dip of his spine, the way his shorts hug the curve of his ass and the powerful flex of his thighs with every step.

The second he disappears around the corner you clench your thighs together so hard it hurts.

You’re already wet. Have been since he sat down. Since he said your nickname. Since he touched your cheek.

You need a shower. Cold. Now.

You bolt upstairs before you can think better of it, lock the bathroom door, strip in record time. The dildo is already in your hand—pulled from under your mattress like it’s been waiting for you.

The water’s barely warm when you brace one foot on the edge of the tub, line up the thick head, and sink down with a broken moan.

It stretches you open in that perfect, filthy way—veins dragging, curve kissing your front wall, heavy balls nudging your clit on the downstroke. You fuck yourself fast, desperate, water pounding your back, free hand braced on the tile.

“Gege—fuck—gege—”

You don’t even try to be quiet. The house is empty except for him, and part of you hopes—prays—he hears.

Downstairs, Caleb grips the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles turn white.

The second you disappeared upstairs he felt it: that familiar phantom squeeze around his cock, hot and wet and impossibly tight. Then the rhythm starts—fast, shallow, greedy.

He’s hard in seconds, leaking into his shorts, breath coming in short pants.

He glances toward the stairs.

He knows what you’re doing.

He knows because he’s been doing the same thing to your toy every night.

And now you’re both home.

Both alone.

Both breaking.

He doesn’t go upstairs. Not yet.

Instead he leans his back against the counter, the cool edge biting into his spine like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His cock is painfully erect under the thin fabric of his shorts, the obscene bulge straining forward, tenting so hard the waistband digs into his lower abs. Every shallow breath makes it twitch, every phantom slam of your hips upstairs sends a fresh jolt through him. He moans—low, broken, helpless—each sound punched out of his lungs as your rhythm rocks him from the inside out. His knees buckle once, twice; he catches himself on the edge of the sink, knuckles white, hips grinding forward into nothing like he’s fucking the air.

He reaches down without thinking, palm cupping the thick ridge through the cotton. One rough stroke and his head falls back, throat working on a groan. The wet spot at the front of his shorts spreads fast—dark, sticky, obscene. He grinds harder into his own fist, hips rolling in slow, filthy circles, eyes fixed on the mess he’s making, precum soaking through until the fabric clings transparently to the flushed head.

Upstairs, you stand frozen under the cold spray for a long minute, water pounding your shoulders, doing absolutely nothing to dull the ache between your legs. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, still fluttering around the memory of double penetration, still greedy for more. The shower did jack shit. You shut off the water with a frustrated huff, towel yourself off in jerky movements, and stumble back to your room naked, skin pebbled, nipples tight from the chill and from want.

You don’t even close the door all the way.

You crawl onto the bed, legs splaying wide, knees bent and feet planted so you can watch yourself take it. The dildo is still warm from earlier, slick with your earlier mess. You line it up, tease the fat head through your folds once—then slam it home to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your back arches off the mattress with a choked cry, pussy clamping down like a vice, walls rippling around every veiny inch.

Down the hall, Caleb sucks in a whimper so sharp it hurts. His eyes roll back; he has to brace both hands on the banister to keep from collapsing right there on the stairs. The phantom grip around his cock returns—tighter, hotter, wetter than before—and he knows exactly what you’re doing.

He climbs the last few steps on shaking legs, drawn like a magnet. Your door is cracked open. He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t.

He looks anyway.

And everything inside him fractures.

There you are—his sweet, innocent meimei—legs spread obscenely wide on the childhood bed you used to share during storms, tits heaving with every frantic roll of your hips, pussy stretched wide around a thick, veiny dildo that looks exactly like his cock. Down to the upward curve, the heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass with every thrust, the flushed brownish-pink head disappearing inside you over and over.

He can see the way your walls cling to it when you pull back, the slick strings connecting silicone to your swollen lips, the way your clit peeks out swollen and red every time you grind down.

“Mmhhh gege! Ahhh gege fuck—need you—mmpphhh!!”

Your voice cracks on his name, back bowing, tits bouncing wildly as you fuck yourself stupid, chasing that edge with desperate, sloppy thrusts. The sheets are soaked beneath you, wet patch spreading.

Caleb’s sure he would have moaned loud enough to wake the whole coast if he hadn’t bitten his lower lip bloody. It’s better than any porn he’s ever seen—hotter, filthier, because it’s you. His pipsqueak. His meimei. Ruining herself on a perfect copy of his dick.

The realization hits like a shockwave.

It was you.

All this time.

The ghost pussy milking him dry every night.

The way it clenched exactly when he needed it.

The way it knew his rhythm, his kinks, his breaking point.

And he’s been doing the same to you.

He shoves his shorts down in one rough yank; his cock springs free, angry red and leaking, veins standing out thick and pulsing. He wraps a fist around the base, strokes once—hard—and has to slap his free hand over his mouth to muffle the groan.

“Mmhh pipsqueak…” he whispers, voice wrecked, hips thrusting into his own grip like he’s fucking you through the doorway. “Such a needy little meimei… arghhh—it was you all along, huh?”

He can see every detail from here— the way your thighs tremble, the way your fingers dig into the sheets, the way you arch and sob his name like a prayer while you slam the toy deeper, chasing the stretch he’s been giving you in secret for months.

And he’s glad.

Fucking glad.

Because it’s mutual.

You out-freaked him first—ordered a replica of his dick and rode it until you cried his name—but he matched you, customized a perfect copy of your cunt and fucked it raw while whispering yours.

You’re both freaks.

Two depraved, lovesick freaks who’ve been secretly fucking each other stupid across hundreds of miles, and now you’re under the same roof with no Gran to stop you.

He strokes faster, matching your rhythm—every time you slam down, he fucks up into his fist. Precum drips over his knuckles, slicking the way. His balls draw up tight, aching.

You’re close. He can tell by the way your moans turn high and broken, the way your hips stutter, the way your pussy visibly flutters around the toy.

He’s right there with you.

One more thrust—yours, his—and you both shatter at the exact same second.

You come with a muffled scream into your pillow, body convulsing, squirting around the dildo in messy pulses that soak your thighs and the bed. The toy stays buried deep as you ride the aftershocks, whimpering his name over and over.

Caleb’s knees finally give out. He catches himself on the doorframe, biting his fist as he comes hard—thick ropes painting the floorboards, his hand, his stomach—while the phantom squeeze of your pussy milks him through every pulse.

He slumps there, panting, cock still twitching in his grip, eyes locked on you through the crack in the door.

You’re still trembling, legs limp, toy lodged inside you, chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

But the door creaks just a fraction wider under his weight.

And your eyes—glazed, wrecked, still teary—slowly lift.

They meet his.

For one endless heartbeat, neither of you breathes.

Then your lips part on a soft, broken whisper that carries straight to him,

“…gege?”

And everything that’s been building for months finally snaps.

You freak out the second your eyes blink from eye contact.

The sheets fly up in a frantic scramble, bunching around your chest and thighs as you yank them to your chin. Your cheeks ignite—burning, scorching hot—while a high-pitched squeak tears out of you like a startled animal.

“What are you—!”

The door, already ajar, swings wider under Caleb’s unsteady weight. He loses his balance completely—arms windmilling for half a second—then crashes forward with a loud, graceless thud, face-planting straight into the floorboards.

You squeak even louder, the sound shrill enough to rattle the windows.

He groans, low and pained, and slowly lifts his head. Blood trickles from his nose in a thin, bright red stream, dripping onto the wood. He blinks once, twice, dazed, then pushes himself up on shaking arms. His shorts are still shoved halfway down his thighs from earlier, so his dick—half-hard, flushed dark, still glistening at the tip—bobs free with the motion, jumping against his stomach like it has a mind of its own.

Your breath snags in your throat, sharp and audible.

You stare. You can’t not staring.

When you’d scrolled through that sketchy website a month ago, trembling and horny and stupid, you’d picked every detail from memory—the exact length you’d felt pressed against your hip during too-long hugs, the slight upward curve you’d glimpsed once through damp sweatpants, the heavy hang of his balls, the thick veins that stood out when his forearms flexed carrying your luggage. You’d thought it was obsessive fantasy.

But seeing it now—in the flesh, real, twitching, leaking a bead of precum that rolls slowly down the shaft—you realize with dizzying clarity—they didn’t just make a replica.

They made an exact fucking match.

Everything clicks into place like a lock tumbling open.

The “ghost” sensations.

The double penetration every night.

The way your toy always seemed to know exactly when he was close, clamping down harder, milking tighter.

The way his phantom cock always mirrored your rhythm, pounding deeper when you slammed down hardest.

Caleb hauls himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He notices your wide-eyed stare locked on his cock and flushes darker than you’ve ever seen him—red creeping from his collar to his ears. With a rough, embarrassed jerk, he yanks his shorts back up, the waistband snapping against his hips, but it does nothing to hide the thick outline still straining forward.

“Pipsqueak…” His voice comes out hoarse, cracked, half-lidded eyes dark and glassy. A thin trail of blood slides from his nostril, curving over the bow of his upper lip. He doesn’t wipe it away.

You snap back to yourself with a jolt.

“Caleb—your nose is bleeding!”

You scramble forward on your knees, sheets slipping dangerously low as you reach for the box of tissues on your nightstand. One hand presses a wad against his nose while the other clutches the fabric to your chest—but not fast enough. The sheet drops just enough to bare your breasts again, nipples peaked and flushed from everything that’s happened.

Caleb’s gaze drops instantly.

He stares—openly, hungrily—for one long heartbeat before you yank the sheet back up with a mortified squeak. Only then does he drag his eyes back to yours, pupils blown wide.

“It’s not because I fell,” he rasps, voice thick. “It’s because of…”

His stare rakes down your body again—slow, deliberate—taking in the way the sheet clings to your sweat-damp skin, the dark patch between your thighs where you’re still dripping, the toy still half-buried inside you under the covers. You squeak again, smaller this time, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Caleb!”

“Okay—okay, I want you to stop freaking out and listen to me—”

You look away fast, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. You don’t know how to explain this. How to admit that you’ve been coming undone on a silicone clone of him for months. That you’ve whispered his name like a prayer while your pussy clenched around fake-him, imagining real-him pinning you down. That you’re terrified of what it means now that the secret’s out.

Who fucks a replica of their gege’s dick?

You do.

You really, really do.

Before you can spiral further, Caleb’s hands—big, warm, calloused from flight controls—cup your cheeks. Gentle. Steady. He tilts your face up until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

They’re soft. Guilty. Desperate. Everything at once.

“We need to figure this out, okay?” he whispers, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “Wait—I need to show you something.”

And just like that he’s gone—bolting out of your room, bare feet slapping the hallway floor, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.

You’re alone again.

The room smells like sex and shame and him.

Your thighs tremble. The dildo is still inside you—warm, thick, stretching you open—and every tiny shift makes it drag against your oversensitive walls. You clench once, involuntarily, and a fresh trickle of slick leaks out around it.

You can hear him in his room now—drawers opening, something thudding to the floor, a muffled curse.

Your mind races.

He’s going to show you something.

You already know what it is.

A possible pocket pussy.

The one he’s been fucking every night while you rode his replica. The one that’s been milking him dry from three hundred miles away.

And now it’s here in this house with both of you.

You swallow hard, heart in your throat.

The floorboards creak as he comes back down the hall.

You don’t move.

Don’t pull the toy out.

Don’t cover up any more than you already are.

You just wait—sheets clutched to your chest, thighs still spread, pussy still stuffed, pulse roaring in your ears—while the footsteps get closer.

When Caleb steps back through the doorway, holding the black satin box like it’s evidence in a crime scene, eyes locked on yours with something raw and unguarded…

You know.

There’s no going back now.

Not for either of you.

Caleb steps back into your room, the black satin box cradled in his big hands like it’s both a confession and a trophy. He doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t even try to play coy. He flips the lid open right in front of you.

Your eyes blow wide. Your mouth drops into a perfect, stunned little ‘o’.

Nestled inside, glossy and obscene, is the pocket pussy—soft silicone lips parted just enough to show the glistening pink interior. And draped over it, stretched across the entrance like a filthy bow, is one of your missing lace panties. The pale pink ones with the tiny bow at the front. The ones you swore the washing machine devoured months ago.

Caleb—shameless bastard now that the mask is off—hooks two fingers under the waistband and tugs the fabric aside. He drags the pad of his thumb slowly along the outer folds, parting them gently, stroking the slick entrance like he’s petting something precious.

The sensation hits you like lightning.

A surprised, broken moan rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Your pussy clenches hard around the dildo still buried inside you, walls fluttering wildly, fresh slick leaking out around the base.

Caleb flushes darker—cheeks, neck, ears—but his grin is pure sin. He chokes on his own spit when your inner muscles clamp down again, the toy translating every spasm straight to his cock.

“You get it now?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Your brain kicks into overdrive, thoughts crashing faster than light.

You’d spent months drowning in guilt—convincing yourself you were the only freak here, the only one twisted enough to order a perfect replica of your gege’s dick and ride it until you sobbed his name into your pillow. You’d hated how much you wanted it, how wrong it felt, how right it felt every time you came clenching around fake-him.

But look at him.

Look at your freak of a gege standing there holding a replica of your cunt, wrapped in your stolen panties like some depraved keepsake. He didn’t just buy it—he customized it, scented it, fucked it raw while thinking of you, and then he kept your underwear like a trophy.

“CALEB YOU STOLE MY PANTIES?!!?” The scream explodes out of you, eyes huge, accusatory, betrayed.

He squeaks—actually squeaks—scratching the back of his head with his free hand, sheepish grin wobbling.

“Umm… well… I rescued them to wash but uh… hehehehehe—”

You lunge.

Your fists rain down on his chest, shoulders, arms—smacking him over and over, forgetting the sheet, forgetting the toy still stretching you open, forgetting everything except righteous fury.

“YOU JERK!!! I KEPT BUYING CUTE PANTIES AND YOU STOLE THEM?!??! HOW DARE YOU!!! I THOUGHT THE WASHER WAS EATING THEM!!”

“Ow—ouch—ouch—pipsqueak!”

He’s half-laughing, half-squeaking, trying to shield himself but not really fighting back. The sounds are ridiculous, boyish, so much like the old Caleb that it almost hurts.

Then his arms snap around your waist.

One hard yank and you’re flush against him—chest to chest, hips to hips, the thick ridge of his cock pressing right against your lower belly through his shorts. Your breath punches out of you in a startled gasp.

“I can buy you new ones, yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping low, rough. “Anything you want. But right now… we need to talk about this, meimei.”

The name hits like a shockwave.

You stop breathing.

His eyes are locked on yours—dark, molten, stripped of every layer of pretense. You feel every inch of him: the heat radiating off his skin, the hard planes of his chest, the insistent throb of his cock trapped between you. And lower—the dildo still lodged deep inside you, making your walls flutter every time you shift.

“Take it out, pipsqueak.”

Your cheeks burn so hot you think they’ll combust. You shake your head frantically—no, no, no—too embarrassed to move, too mortified to pull the replica of him out of your dripping cunt while he watches.

Caleb frowns, impatient.

His hand slides down—big, warm fingers wrapping around the base of the dildo where it’s buried in you. He groans low in his throat at the feel of your walls gripping it—gripping him, then yanks.

The toy comes free with a wet, filthy pop.

You gasp sharply—sharp enough to hurt—your pussy clenching around sudden emptiness. Slick gushes out in a messy splash, coating your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets, making everything even more obscene.

“Come on,” he chuckles, dark and teasing, holding the glistening dildo up between you like evidence. “I know you weren’t shy fucking this replica in Linkon, huh? No wonder the ghost was so needy…”

His eyes drag over the toy—taking in the way it’s coated in your arousal, veins shiny, base slick—and then rake back up your body, slow and hungry.

“I should’ve known it was my naughty little pipsqueak. After all… it’s only meimei who takes this much from her gege, hmm?”

His voice drops to gravel.

You gulp, panting softly, chest heaving. You pout up at him—bratty, defiant—and smack his chest again, weaker this time.

“But… you had a replica of mine too!”

Caleb laughs—low, rough, relieved.

“In that case… I’m guilty too.”

Then he moves.

One step forward and your back hits the mattress. You both go down in a tangle—sheets ripping away completely, your naked body splayed beneath him, still sweaty, still flushed, still smelling like sex and shame and him.

He braces on his forearms, caging you in, face inches from yours.

“Then we should share this sin together, right?”

His hips settle between your thighs. The hard length of him—real this time—nudges right against your soaked entrance, hot and thick and leaking through his shorts.

You whimper—small, broken, needy.

His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling.

“Tell me to stop, meimei,” he whispers, voice trembling just enough to betray how close he is to breaking. “Tell me and I’ll walk out right now. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

Your hands slide up—fingers curling into his shoulders, nails digging in.

You don’t push him away.

You pull him closer.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathe against his lips.

And that’s it.

The last thread snaps.

Caleb’s mouth crashes down on yours—hungry, desperate, years of pent-up want pouring out in one bruising kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming, tasting, while his hips grind forward, dragging the fat head of his cock through your folds.

You arch up into him with a sob, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

He groans into your mouth—raw, wrecked.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—been waiting so long—”

Caleb pulls back just enough to drink you in—really drink you in.

You’re sprawled beneath him like a fever dream: lips swollen and glossy from his kisses, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants, eyes glassy and half-lidded with want. His gaze drags down slow—over the flushed peaks of your tits, the soft curve of your belly still trembling from aftershocks, then lower, to where your thighs are parted and your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing. Slick shines on your inner thighs, dripping down toward the sheets in lazy rivulets. The toy’s absence has left you empty and aching, walls fluttering visibly like they’re begging to be filled again.

His whole body burns—not just from the heat of the moment, but from the sheer, dizzying reality of it. His wildest, most shameful dream is right here: you, naked and wrecked and his, finally letting him see you like this. Touch you like this. He’s drowning in emotions—guilt, relief, raw hunger—but he forces himself to focus. He wants this to be good for you. Better than good. He wants to feed every filthy craving you’ve both been hiding, satisfy the hunger that’s been eating you alive for months.

“So pretty,” he stutters, voice cracking as two fingers glide down your slit. He parts your folds gently, watching the way your clit twitches under the lightest brush.

You yelp, thighs jerking inward on instinct. “Caleb!”

He shakes his head, firm but soft. His free hand comes down in a sharp spank to the plush meat of your thigh—hard enough to sting, soft enough to make the flesh jiggle.

“Oh no no no no,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Don’t go hiding from me now. You’re beautiful, pipsqueak. I want to admire all of you.”

You bite your lower lip hard, cheeks flaming, but you don’t close your legs again. You watch—breath hitching—as his fingers continue their slow exploration: tracing your entrance, dipping just inside to feel how soaked you are, then sliding lower. He gropes one ass cheek shamelessly, kneading the soft flesh before landing another weak, appreciative spank. The jiggle makes him groan low in his throat.

“Aw damn…”

You huff, mortified and turned on in equal measure, and reach up to grab his ear—tugging hard.

He yelps instantly. “Ow ow ow—what’s wrong? Did I hurt you—”

You scoff, cutting him off, and slide both palms under his shirt. Your fingers find the hard planes of his pecs, cupping them shamelessly, thumbs brushing over his nipples.

“Take off your clothes too, dummy,” you mutter, voice bratty and breathless. “I don’t wanna be the only one naked.”

Caleb blinks once—then grins so wide it’s almost stupid, ear-to-ear and boyish despite the filthy situation.

“Fair enough.”

He yanks the sleeveless shirt over his head in one smooth motion, muscles flexing under sweaty skin as it hits the floor somewhere behind him. Next come the shorts—hooked thumbs in the waistband, frantic tug downward. The fabric slides off his thighs and his cock springs free, slapping lewdly against his lower abs with a wet smack.

You gasp—sharp, involuntary.

It’s exactly like the dildo. Down to the last detail: the thick veins, the slight upward curve, the flushed brownish-pink head already leaking, the heavy balls hanging low. Your pussy clenches hard around nothing at the sight, a fresh gush of slick trickling out.

“Like what you see, huh?” he smirks, voice hoarse and wrecked. He grips the base and smacks the fat head against your dripping folds—once, twice—coating himself in your mess.

You whine instantly, hips jerking up. “Ahhh fuck—Caleb—mmmpphhh!!”

But instead of pushing in, he pulls back. You frown, confused and needy—until you see him reach for the dildo again.

With a slow, sinful smile, he lines it up and slides it back inside your tight cunt.

“Hai—ahhhh—Caleb!?!”

You can only stare up at his face—pleasure twisting his features, mouth falling open in a perfect ‘o’—as he pushes the toy deeper. A low, rumbling groan escapes him.

“Fuck… exact feeling…”

He keeps going—slow, torturous—watching your face the whole time while he feeds inch after inch back into you. Your walls stretch around the familiar silicone, fluttering, sucking it in greedily until it’s buried to the hilt again: tip kissing your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush against your ass.

Only then does he stop.

But he’s not done.

He manhandles you with easy strength—big hands under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You squeak as he repositions you properly on the bed: flat on your back, head near the pillows, legs spread wide. He climbs over you, straddling your chest, knees bracketing your shoulders.

His cock hovers right above your face—hard, twitching, leaking a fat pearl of precum from the slit.

Your brain empties completely. All you can do is stare: at him, at the dick that’s been haunting your nights for months, now real and inches from your lips.

“You’ll suck it, right baby?” he rasps, voice trembling with restraint. “Mmmh… suck gege’s dick while the replica stretches you open.”

He lowers himself slowly. The swollen head smacks against your lips—hot, sticky, salty.

You open immediately.

Your mouth wraps around the tip, tongue swirling, sucking gently at first. Caleb throws his head back with a guttural sound.

“Ohhh fuck—dual sensation—ahhh… shit!”

His fingers slide into your hair, gripping gently but firm. He starts fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts—careful not to choke you yet, but deep enough to make your eyes water.

“Fuck baby… take it deeper. I know you can—ahh… you’ve been swallowing that dick down your throat, haven’t you? Hah…”

You can barely think—pussy stuffed full and throbbing around the toy, mouth stretched around the real thing, taste of him flooding your senses. But you obey.

Your hands fly up—gripping the firm meat of his ass, nails digging in as you pull him forward. You relax your throat and swallow him to the base in one slow, greedy glide.

Your nose buries into the neatly trimmed, newly shaved patch of pubic hair. His scent—musk, clean sweat, him—overwhelms you. Your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering, fingers sinking deeper into the thick muscle of his thighs while tears of effort slip down your temples.

Caleb’s head snaps back, face contorting in raw pleasure—jaw slack, brows furrowed, a broken moan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—good girl—fuck—”

He holds himself there for a heartbeat—letting you feel every thick inch pulsing on your tongue—before he starts to move again.

Slow, deep thrusts into your mouth while the dildo stays buried in your cunt, every rock of his hips making the toy shift inside you just enough to drag against your walls.

You’re stuffed at both ends.

Full.

Claimed.

His.

And he’s not stopping until you both break again.

Caleb keeps fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips—balls smacking wetly against your chin on every deep thrust, the filthy sound echoing in the quiet room. His moans are low and ragged, pleasure ripping through him in waves as your throat flutters around his length, tongue pressing flat against the underside, sucking greedily.

You snap your hips forward uselessly, clenching desperately around the dildo still buried deep in your cunt. The dual fullness—mouth stuffed with real him, pussy stretched by fake him—has you trembling, thighs shaking, slick dripping down your ass in steady rivulets.

That’s when he breaks.

Caleb’s whole body locks up, shaking violently. His fingers tighten in your hair—almost too hard—burying himself to the root until your nose presses flush against his pelvis. A guttural groan tears from his chest as he starts cumming.

Thick, hot spurts flood your mouth instantly—salty, bitter, overwhelming. Your eyes roll back so hard you see stars, throat working frantically to swallow it all, but there’s too much. It overflows the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy strings.

He doesn’t stop.

He pulls out with a lewd, wet pop—cock still jerking—and shoots the last few ropes across your face: warm streaks painting your cheeks, your nose, your swollen lips. You gasp for air, tongue darting out instinctively to lick what you can reach, tasting him everywhere.

Caleb pants above you, chest heaving, staring down at the mess he made. You look wrecked—face covered in his cum, eyes glassy and dazed, lips parted and shiny. He knows he should feel ashamed. He should apologize, clean you up, stop this madness.

But fuck—you look so hot like this it’s rewriting his brain chemistry. Ruining him for anything else.

You flutter your lashes up at him, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing your lower lip to catch another drop. The sight snaps something inside him.

He groans, low and broken, and reaches for the dildo. One rough yank and he pulls it free from your overstimulated pussy.

You arch violently off the bed, hips jerking, a gush of slick squirting out around the sudden emptiness. “F-fuck—Caleb—!”

He stares, mesmerized. “Fuck… you’re so hot, meimei. I think I’m losing my mind.”

You’re panting, trying to catch your breath, body still twitching with aftershocks. Guilt crashes over him like cold water—he reaches for the tissue box on your nightstand with shaking hands and starts wiping your face clean, gentle despite everything.

His cheeks are crimson, burning with embarrassment and leftover heat. “Ah shit—sorry pipsqueak, didn’t mean to… fuck… I’m sorry, okay?”

You just stare up at him—brain fried, body humming—and reach out. Your fingers wrap around his still-hard cock, slick with spit and cum.

He hitches a sharp breath. “Ahhh—oh god—mmhh—”

You give him lazy, teasing strokes, smirking mischievously through the haze.

“I want it, Caleb,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I want your dick.”

He groans, hips snapping forward into your touch. Hearing you talk like that—filthy, needy—makes him throb harder in your palm.

“Say it again, meimei,” he rasps, voice trembling. “Say it… properly.”

You bite your lower lip, thumb flicking over the sensitive head, circling the slit, smearing precum.

“I want your dick, gege,” you purr, slow and deliberate. “Please?”

You don’t stop. Somehow you sit up—legs shaky—free hand sliding up his arm, over the thick muscle of his shoulder, then flicking his hard nipple. You lick your lips again, eyes locked on his, and climb into his lap.

“Need you inside, gege,” you breathe against his throat. “Not the… toy. Need your dick to fuck this pussy—mmhh!”

Caleb snaps.

Since when did his sweet pipsqueak become this seductive little tease?

He hauls you up the bed in one swift motion—then slams you back down onto the mattress. Not too rough—just enough to make you squeak in surprise, tits bouncing with the impact.

“Fuck—look at that sultry expression,” he growls, voice dark. “You’re such a tease, meimei. Such a dirty girl begging her gege’s dick.”

His palm comes down in a sharp smack against your pussy—wet, obscene. You whine, arching hard, the sting turning into molten heat that makes you even wetter.

“You bought a dildo to fuck this needy little cunt, huh?” Another smack—harder. You sob, mindless, hips grinding back toward his hand. “Used a replica of your gege’s dick to train this pussy?”

You can only nod—whimpering, desperate—grinding shamelessly against his palm.

“Fuck—but who am I to judge?” he chuckles darkly. “I’m a freak too, ain’t I?”

He presses the fat head of his cock to your entrance—hot, leaking, real—and snaps his hips forward in one powerful thrust.

You both nearly scream.

The bed shakes beneath you as he bottoms out—thick, burning, stretching you in ways the toy never could. Your walls clamp down instantly, fluttering around every veiny inch.

Caleb grips the headboard above you, knuckles white, hovering over your body. His other hand slides between your legs—fingers finding your clit, pinching and flicking with his thumb while he watches your face twist in pleasure.

“Good thing is… I don’t have to train you for my dick anymore, hah,” he pants, hips rutting in sloppy, messy thrusts. “You’re nice and ready to take me full… fuck… I never thought—”

He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut. Tears well at the corners—not from pain, but from too much everything: pleasure, relief, fear.

He’s terrified he’ll cry in front of you. Terrified you’ll disappear when this ends. Terrified he’ll lose you after finally having you.

So he fucks you deeper—hands roaming everywhere: groping your tits, spanking your ass, squeezing your thighs. Rough, unpracticed, desperate. He can’t help it. He’s never done this before—not like this, not with anyone.

Suddenly he stops—mid-thrust, sweat dripping down his chest in rivulets. He looks down at you, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Hey—hey hey hey, pipsqueak… hah… are you like—feeling actually good? Like… or…”

His whole face is on fire. He gulps, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

Your brain is too fried to process deeply. You just grin—mindless, blissed-out—and grind back against him with a small, innocent smile.

“Mmhh… best big brother ever…”

Caleb’s mouth falls open. He chokes on a laugh—or maybe a sob—then shakes his head and goes back to fucking you.

He’ll ask when you’re sober. Right now you’re too drunk on his cock to think straight.

He finds your clit again—rubbing tight circles—and feels the telltale shiver in your hips. You’re close. He can see the faint bulge in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, and it makes him shy and so fucking turned on at the same time.

The fact that he’s claiming you like this—fucking you so deep you’ll feel him for days—makes his head spin. He prays this isn’t a fever dream.

His own brain is melting from the pleasure, the sensation, the sight of you taking him so perfectly.

He reaches down—presses the heel of his palm against the bulge in your belly—and pushes.

Both your eyes roll back at the same instant.

Broken moans spill from your tongues as you cum together—hard.

You squirt violently—soaking his cock, his abs, the sheets in messy arcs—walls clamping down like a vice around him.

Caleb comes with a shattered whimper—hips stuttering, spilling inside you in thick, endless pulses until it leaks out around his base, dripping down his balls and onto the ruined bed.

He collapses next to you—breathing ragged, eyes half-focused and glassy.

After a long moment he reaches over—gentle now—brushing damp hair off your face. A soft, satisfied smile curves his lips.

“Thank you…” he whispers, voice hoarse and raw.

You turn your head—still panting, still trembling—and press a lazy kiss to his palm.

“Gege…”

He pulls you close—bodies sticky, tangled, hearts hammering in sync.

Caleb’s hand comes up slow—almost reverent—caressing the side of your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing the texture of your skin. His breath hitches when he feels the warmth, the realness of you still flushed and glowing against him. A low, stuttering rumble escapes his chest.

“Did you… like it, pipsqueak?”

You’re draped over him now—breasts cushioned against the hard plane of his chest, cheek pressed to the thick swell of his pec, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slow. You grin lazily, voice cracked and hoarse from all the moaning, all the screaming his name.

“I fucking loved it, Caleb.”

His smirk falters—just for a second—something soft and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. His thumb circles lazy patterns over your hipbone, the touch grounding and possessive at once.

“Me too.” He swallows. “I thought I was pushing things too fast… making it uncomfortable since I’ve never—”

Your eyes shoot open. You half-scream, half-gasp, bolting upright so fast your tits bounce against his chest.

“WAIT—you… YOU MEAN YOU WERE A VIRGIN?!?!”

Caleb’s whole face ignites—crimson flooding from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut in pure mortification, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward in a faint, sheepish grin.

“Yeah yeah… first time got my dick wet. Kinda nervous.”

You beam—bright, wicked, delighted—and crash your mouth to his in a messy, giddy kiss. Then you’re scrambling off him, lunging for your phone on the nightstand.

“Wait—lemme take a picture of us losing our virginities together!”

Caleb’s mouth drops open. You were a virgin too. The realization hits him square in the chest—funny, warm, possessive—and a smug grin spreads across his face before he can stop it.

You flip the camera to selfie mode, crawling back into his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. His arms snake around your waist immediately—tight, claiming—pulling you flush against him while you stick your tongue out in a naughty little pose.

“Say cheese!”

He looks straight at the lens—smug as hell, eyes half-lidded and dark with leftover lust—while you giggle and snap the photo.

Caleb huffs softly after, nuzzling into your neck. “You better not show this to anyone.”

You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Oh, I’m gonna show it to any guy who’ll bother me like—you should be scared of my big brother.”

He wheezes—chokes on his own spit—and bursts out laughing, arms squeezing you until you squeak in protest.

“Diabolical.”

His palm comes down in a light, playful spank on your ass—watching the flesh bounce with open delight.

“You’re a menace to society, you know that?”

“I get it from you.”

You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips back slow—grinding your slick folds along his still-hard cock. He groans low in his throat.

“Fair enough.”

He dives back in—kissing you deep, tongues tangling messy and hungry. You both moan into each other’s mouths, hands roaming, relearning every inch now that the barrier’s gone.

“Fuck… I’m gonna miss you when I go back to Skyhaven…”

You grin against his lips, crawling higher up his body until you’re straddling his chest. Your hand wraps around his cock—still slick, still leaking—and guide the head to your mouth.

“That’s what the toys are for, gege.”

You hum as you wrap your lips around him again—slow, teasing—tongue swirling over the sensitive slit. Caleb lets out a low, rumbling moan, hips twitching up into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Ahhh… I almost forgot…”

His fingers slide down—two thick digits pushing into your dripping pussy without warning. You moan around his cock, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

“Three days left… fuck, I can’t get enough of you, meimei…!”

Neither can you.

The next three days blur into one long, feverish haze.

You fuck like rabbits—hours bleeding into hours, positions changing, surfaces shifting—bed, floor, shower, kitchen counter when Gran’s still gone, even on the old couch in the living room where you used to watch cartoons together as kids.

He eats you out until your thighs shake and you’re crying his name.

You ride him slow and deep until he’s begging.

He pins you against the wall and fucks you standing until pictures rattle on their hooks.

You suck him off in the hallway while he tries—and fails to stay quiet.

Every time one of you starts to flag—exhausted, sore, spent—the other just reaches over, touches, whispers filthy encouragement, and the fire reignites.

Even after Gran comes back—bags in hand, cheerful questions about your “quiet week”—you keep sneaking.

Late-night tiptoes down the hall.

Muffled moans pressed into pillows so she doesn’t hear.

Quick, desperate fucks in the bathroom while the shower runs to cover the sounds.

His hand over your mouth while he grinds into you from behind, whispering “quiet, meimei, or Gran’ll hear how much her good girl likes her gege’s cock.”

When the vacation finally ends, you stand on the platform watching the train to Skyhaven pull away.

Caleb leans out the open window one last time—hair mussed, eyes soft and dark—and presses a final, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Be good,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You grin, wicked. “No promises.”

The train starts moving. He disappears down the track.

You stand there until it’s gone, thighs clenched tight—still feeling the fresh load he stuffed you full with this morning before dawn, warm and thick and leaking slowly down your inner thighs under your skirt.

You shift your weight—feel it drip a little more—and smile to yourself.

Three hundred miles apart again. But the toys are waiting. And now you both know exactly what the other needs. You turn toward your apartment in linkon, already counting the days until the next break.

© CHERRYSCRIPT 2026— don't copy translate feed my work to ai.

[sylvieisoffline]

I JUST DISCOVERED THAT SOMEONE COMMISSIONED A PART TWO AAAA BLESS THEIR HORNY HEART & TYSM FOR THE FOOD @cherryscript!

[xiagasm]

synopsis. things caleb says when you’re fucking

cw. dirty talk

"fuuuuck that's it pips."

"so good, so so good f'me."

"open wider, cmon. . . mhmm juuust like that. gonna fuck that cute throat."

"use me however you want pips, i'm all yours."

"behave. brats don't get rewards. . . only good girls do, you're my good girl, right?"

"fuck, sit on my face. need to taste that sweet pussy."

"oh no. . . no no no. you can't run from the colonel. . . i'm not done with you yet."

"yeah? want me to fill you up? beg for it. beg for my cock."

"yeaaah. . . i know baby, caleb's such a meanie. shh it's okay, i got you."

"wait— too much pips. . . fuuck you're milking me dry."

"fuuck you're so hot."

"c'mon. . . lay over my knees now. keep count. if you stop, punishment's starting over from the beginning."

"one more. . . you can do one more for me, right? that's my sweet girl."

"hands to yourself. . . brats don't get to touch."

"so good. . . fuck i feel like i'm melting."

"you're taking it so well. good job, baby."

"on your knees."

"hmm, not a single thought behind those eyes, huh? my pretty baby's drunk on my cock."

"haah, yeah your hand feels good. fuck squeeze it a lil tighter. . . yeaaah like that."

"giving up already? you were the one who said you wanted to be on top this time. . . alright, alright. just lay back, lemme do the work."

"y'r tits are so cute. . . you'll let me make a mess on em, right?"

"woah woah, easy on the biting pips."

"haah, wish i could keep you tied up here with me . . . forever."

"you like it when i rub the tip against your puffy folds, doncha?"

"my sweet girl. you're so perfect."

"aww, poor baby. it hurts? c'mere, let me hold you."

"fuck. i love you. . . loveyouloveyouloveyou, love you sooo much. ngh."

[sylvieisoffline]

literally so scrumptious (that and I'm also horribly deprived of dirty talk so 🤷🏻‍♀️)

[heartyluv]

✰ it’s complicated…

cw: toxicbabydaddy!caleb/fem!reader, you two have no business being together, him getting jealous, mention of getting you pregnant again, he’s lowkey manipulative, you do in fact love this man (if you squint)

a/n: haven’t done a smau in a minute so if i’m rusty… CLOSE YOUR EYES!!!!

creds to @uzmacchiato for the white pearl/lace dividers!

[sylvieisoffline]

Oh my gosh?! I've been missing out on the good stuff bc of my new work but AAAAAA this is so good 😭 (i'm lowk a freak for toxic!caleb lmao)

[starryeyed-knight]

hoaxes

prompt: 'I thought you were joking' kiss prompt (requested by @cloudedangels) mixed with a practice kiss to "make it look real" that very much does not stay platonic + love letter practice with caleb (requested by @stargirlygirl) content: caleb's pov. college days, "practice" kissing for fake dating, mutual pining in denial lovesick idiots, making out, caleb's a tease but also losing his mind. spiritual successor to love letter practice a/n: oh god first caleb fic since august. fear. and i'm so sorry that it's taken a million years to get to another celebration request. (general reminder that I don't take requests, this was for an old follower celebration I haven't finished)

Caleb stares at your mouth as it moves, his own agape as your words swirl around in his mind. They bounce around like the logo on one of those old-fashioned TVs, and your request finally clicks like it's slotted perfectly into one of the corners as he repeats:

"You want me to kiss you?"

You bite your lip now, eyes wide and flickering all over his face before you look away.

He's still staring at your lips, licking at his own as they suddenly feel unbearably dry. You tell him all the time that he needs to use chapstick more, but how would you know if they're really that chapped?

But if you do this, you would know.

Oh god were you doing this? Where was the chapstick you gave him last time you visited? The apple flavored balm you'd gotten at the convenience store and slipped into his pocket, his cheeks flushed when he found it long after you left and realized you were thinking of him, his mouth—

"Caleb."

He inhales sharply, hand curling into a fist on top of his sweatpants, resisting the urge to dig through the pockets to see if he'd left it there.

"Practice," you repeat, insisting on the clarification, and he blinks rapidly. "I'm your fake girlfriend, aren't I? So, pretend with me."

He should cling to it like a lifeline, the pretense that what you were asking him for wasn't real. A game. You've always liked games. Like those love letters you wrote in high school, "practicing" on him with each flowery expression of your utterly hopeless, devoted love.

(You don't know how many times he's read them. How they're all tucked away in a box he hides in an old gym bag, someplace safe you'd never look. You don't know he always slides one inside a hidden compartment of his uniform before a flight.)

So, really, nothing would change if you did this.

Nothing at all.

Except maybe everything.

"I mean, we are going to that party tomorrow, right?" You fidget with the blanket sprawled across his bed, a piece of home to keep him warm when the walls of his dorm started to feel claustrophobic. It's yours, but you've never mentioned it, never asked for it back. "People might bother you. So…we need to practice. Kissing. Just in case."

Caleb sucks in a deep, slow breath. It sticks in his lungs, the world going still for a moment, except for your fingers digging into an old hole in the fabric, bottom lip still caught between your teeth.

When you peer up at him through your lashes (he'd tried to count them all once, years ago. He'd gotten up to about 84 before they fluttered, and you looked at him, soft and safe and happy, and he lost track), the breath he had been holding escapes him in a nervous laugh.

You're fucking with him.

He just knows because—well, you have to be.

Because why here? Why now?

Why tempt him like this when your mere presence, your existence alone had always been enough to push him to the edge? To always be one nudge, one slip away from what was just out of his reach? Sinking his teeth into the sweet flesh of the fruit that was meant to be admired, protected, not consumed.

You frown, brows knitting together in frustration.

"Caleb."

"You're not being serious," he says, shaking his head. His fingers run through his hair, then anxiously tug at the chain around his neck. His thumb brushes against the words engraved into the metal tags; an old habit, a ritual. "You can't be."

You scoff, arms crossing your chest. The frustration in your expression crosses into irritation, and this—this is familiar. This he can deal with.

"Why not?"

Now it's his turn to scoff.

"What do you mean why not?"

Caleb lifts his hands, gesturing meaninglessly, because there was no way to explain it.

There were never any words for what you were to him, what he was to you. You just were. He was. And this wasn't—it couldn't—

He shakes his head, focusing back on you. Your lips are pressed together in a thin line now, face scrunched up in annoyance, and an old instinct rears up in him.

"Okay," he says slowly, elbows pressed to his thighs as he leans down closer to you.

Your eyes widen, lips popping open in an o, but he stops a few inches away. Trying to keep eye contact with you, but his gaze keeps slipping down, tracing that perfect shape of your mouth.

"Let's say you aren't just pullin' my leg, pips." His voice is deep, too deep. Too raspy. But he lets a smirk cross his lips, just to watch you react. "You've just been dyin' to kiss little ol' me all these years, and now you think you got your chance, hm?"

Your mouth opens and closes, glancing all over his face. Unsure where to look, even as your attention keeps focusing in low, where his smirk only grows. The blanket fists under your hand, and within a few wide-eyed blinks later, you're glaring.

"Now you're messing with me," you accuse, huffing.

"Fair is fair," he teases in a sing-song voice, and you roll your eyes. Your lips jut out in a pout, and he stares at them, trying to turn the playing field back to his favor.

But why? he thinks distantly, all the while he tries to push you further. To get you to give up? Admit defeat, that you were joking all along? Or that he'd finally caught you in exactly what you wanted?

Caleb knows all your tells. He reads them now, as easy as breathing: your fingers twitching, nerves; your eyebrows furrowing, annoyance; biting your lip again, want.

Want shouldn't be there.

Caleb's head tilts, looking at you closer. Nose scrunching up, frustration. Eyes unable to meet his, guilt. But wandering eyes and licking your lips—bashfulness? Longing?

That shouldn't be there either.

"You've been thinking of this for so long, hm?" Caleb breathes out low, palms flat against the bed as he leans closer to you. Your chest begins to rise and fall faster, eyes falling heavy and fixed to him.

You're pretending. He's pretending.

You're both always pretending, but about what?

His mind spins as he teases in a whisper, "You've been dreamin' about it." The tip of his nose brushes against yours. When had he gotten so close? Why did you let him? "Wondering if I taste like that lip balm you snuck into my pocket three months ago."

You whimper. So softly, but it rings in his ears this close to you, and he throbs.

Wrong. He was so wrong for this.

"Sour apple," you breathe. It's warm, fanning across his lips, and they part for you.

You're going along with it, he thinks, lies.

"Mm," he hums, watching you shiver. "You'll like the taste on me. Promise."

His hand inches closer, thumb brushing against the waistband of your pants. His callused fingertip slips across the sliver of skin where your hoodie has ridden up.

His hoodie. It's your favorite to steal when you come over. Sometimes you take it when you leave, leave it when you come back. It always smells like you then.

A sound rumbles low in his chest—possessive, pleased—and he swallows it, watching you ease closer to him at the touch.

Your forehead rests against his. He can't think straight.

Pretending. You're both so good at pretending.

You inhale deeply, and the sound trembles.

You'll break in a second. You'll let out a nervous, endearing laugh, palms on his face to push him away. You'll admit it was all a joke, a ruse. He'll laugh too and say he knew it all along.

You'll move on.

You won't forget.

"And when you kiss me," he promises, inches away, "I'll ruin everyone else for you forever."

Your eyes meet his. Your lips part, and no sound comes out.

When your fingers reach up, trembling, brushing along his face, he waits for you to push him away.

I'm just teasing you, Caleb, you'll say.

Yeah, I'm teasin' you, too, he'll say back. How's your own medicine taste in your—

Caleb gasps, eyes flying wide open when the softest warmth meets his lips.

His gazes focuses on you, half-lidded and cupping his cheeks; your mouth plush and gentle, but eager, wanting as it moves against his.

His lips part against yours, trying to breathe, trying to think. A whimper is pulled out of him when you take the opportunity to suck on his bottom lip.

Caleb breaks.

He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, sloppy but sure, hand splaying across the small of your back to tug you into him.

It's not real, but it feels real, and he drinks you in. Mistaking your desperation for his own, or his for yours, kisses exchanged in time with the syncing of two rapid heartbeats.

He can't tell anymore where he ends and you begin, and he leans into you, cupping the back of your neck, yearning to get closer. Needing to crawl in until he's nestled within your bones, next to your heart.

He'll sink into the muscle and help it beat. He'll always be with you.

When you pull back, gasping, he doesn't want to open his eyes. He doesn't want to wake up without you again.

But when your thumb runs across his swollen lips, and he looks, you're still there.

"I thought you were joking," Caleb breathes out, long lashes fluttering, grazing your cheekbones.

You sigh, stroking his jaw with a reverence that makes his heart stop.

"Just…pretend with me," you offer quietly, desperately.

Your wide eyes meet his, as disbelieving as he is, even as you lean in again. Pulled by a magnetic force, by the gravity that made up his very bones. He doesn't even have to use it to have you coming back to him, and that realization has his mind spinning.

"Just for today."

Caleb still isn't ready for the press of your lips against his this time, but his eyes flutter shut when he feels it. He sighs into your mouth, trying to memorize the shape, the curve of your top and then bottom lip when his lips purse just slightly to capture each one in his mouth, alternating increasingly wet, desperate kisses between them.

"Caleb," you whimper, and his arms are around you, pulling you into him until you're crashing together, all make-believe forgotten as he devours you the way he'd always dreamed of.

"Just for today," he repeats your words anyway between each quick kiss, the wet smack of two inexperienced mouths loud in his dorm room as you become tangled together.

He leans you back onto his bed, fingers shaking as he cups your cheek and kisses you. His body weight sinks into yours, and you sigh.

If he blankets your body with his own, you'll be protected. You'll be safe. You'll be his.

Your leg shakes as it wraps around his calf, neither of you exactly sure of what you're doing, how far you're going as you lose yourself in delirium, in this waking dream that'll be gone all too soon when one of you snaps out of the haze.

Caleb continues to reaffirm a lie, "Just for today, pips, just..."

You pull back just enough to meet his eye. There's something dark there. Something knowing, and it resonates with his soul before you pull him back in for another desperate kiss.

You're both so good at pretending.

But you'd never be this good.

🍎 Caleb fics: @reit0o @xiangel @sylvieisoffline @itsmysmut @inzayneforaj @violetpurplez @suguru-getos @k-lq20 @viviiswrr-d @sickleddreamer @ajyoursgirl @colizionbetweeensapphires 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @lotusapple-xia-main @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple @aenishas @starlightyearning @raendarkfaerie @potato-vagina @smeetywerben @lamogliedizayne @plasticcardholder @colonelkaboom @plzdonutpercieveme @syncaleb @dailydoseofanimeawesome @wooasecret @glitterykingdomangel @meofary @calistaxoxo24 @jadeloverxd @mylifedoesntexist @twilightsmissingfur @xiaprint @ughhhhhsstuff @gardenialily @lh1a @kentohearted @minquetoast @m00nl1gh4 @thestarsthatshineinyoureyes

[sylvieisoffline]

BEAR WITH ME WHILE I SCREAM CUZ WTF THE TENSION?!

[sylvieisoffline]

i'm going to be honest, seeing you in my notifications is always a blast—and i look forward to it every time ! i hope you're having a great day, lovely ♡

aaaaa you don't know how much this means to me 🤧

i just woke up and thought this was some fever dream haha, pls know that as long as i'm here, someone will always gobble up your fics (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

[aeyumicore]

KINKTOBER 2025 DAY 5 ━ INTIMACY THERAPY

$15.99 MAIN COURSE 3 ━ XAVIER 沈星回 synopsis. the hunter's association enacts a new mandatory program—intimacy therapy. the catch? you cannot pick, see, or hear your partner. and xavier plans to take full advantage. inspired by @/unintentionalseductresses's prescription for pleasure. wc. 6.5k please mind the content warnings.

━ ✧ cw: mdni, explicit sexual content, sensory play and deprivation, mandated anonymous sex for stress relief, xavier knows it's you but you don't know it's him, calculated and manipulative xavier, first-time (not virginity loss), not canon-compliant, unconsented condom removal, brief mentions of pregnancy and small breeding kink, dual pov (reader and xavier's)

━ ✧ links: kinktober 2025 masterlist | ao3 | general masterlist | inspo fic

━ ✧ an: day five of my kinktober! as well as a belated happy birthday too xavier <3

this is inspired heavily by the premise of @/uninterestedseductress' fic "prescription for pleasure" with her permission of course! please check her fic out and show her some love. SUCH a fun plot.

please make sure you read the warnings. if you are uncomfortable by them, do not read.

"This is quite literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Tara giggles as you crumple the flier in your hands, reflecting your sentiments on the requirements outlined in them.

"Mandated intimacy therapy? Do they realize how stupid they sound?"

She takes the crumpled sheet of paper from your hands, "Come on. It's not that bad."

You raise an eyebrow at her, "Shut up. You're only saying that because you don't have to do it."

Tara had recently gotten into a relationship, exempting her from the new mandated therapy program the Hunter's Association had put into place. Those in pre-existing relationships, of any kind—romantic or mutually beneficial, would not have to participate, as they were getting physical intimacy in their personal lives.

"How would they even know if I was getting it? I could literally check this box and they'd never know."

Tara rolls her eyes, "You know how the Association is. They'd know."

You curse under your breath, knowing she's right. Between their security team, covert operations, and subprograms you didn't even want to know about, you knew you couldn't get away with hiding anything from them.

"Maybe this is a good thing! You've been forever saying you miss sex."

You peek up from your pillow and scoff, "The flier says intimate physical contact. It doesn't specify sex. All they're getting out of me is a hug. Then I'm out."

Tara rolls her eyes, "Honestly, this will be good for you. You're wound as tightly as I've ever seen you."

You smack her with your pillow, to which she dodges easily.

"Besides, you've seen what's been happening. Hunters burning out, crashing out. It's only gotten worse lately. I don't want that to happen to you."

As the Wanderer issue had progressed, the number of Hunters joining the Association had significantly declined and the number leaving had increased—whether by choice or force. As a result, missions were often now handled solo, regardless of existing work partnerships.

After conducting a mental health examination on all the Hunters, especially those in the UNICORN division, it was discovered that their overall psychological well-being was abysmal, exacerbated by the increase of solo missions.

And they'd cited the reason as lack of physical contact.

So, working with some of the most reputable physicians and surgeons in the country, they'd created a meticulous therapy program.

In crude terms it was essentially mandated sex for stress-relief. Of course, the guidelines said "physical contact" but the procedure brief detailed the benefits each level of physical contact could have. And of course, sexual intimacy sat at the top.

All you can do is scoff. You know there's truth to Tara's words—the demands of the job had become unbearably heavy, and no matter what you did, you couldn't quite lift that fog.

You'd tried new hobbies, making time for yourself and for friends, tried to connect more with nature, exercised more.

And while all those things did help, there was an undeniable tangle of tension that lingered. Depending on how you looked at it, this could be a good thing. But you'd never admit that.

You grumble unhappily, "It's dumb. They don't even let you pick a partner for this stupid thing."

Tara gives you an amused look, "Oh? Did you have someone in mind?"

Your cheeks flush at Tara's knowing tease, averting your eyes. She bursts into a fit of giggles, taking the flier from your hands.

"You never know. Maybe you'll get paired with our favorite silver-haired enigma. It does say they have an extensive and thorough match-making system. And you guys are perfect!"

"That's not—I-I didn't—" you splutter, to which Tara rolls her eyes playfully.

"It specifically says it is anonymous so as to not encourage relationships between co-workers. And they change your pairing each session," you deflect, "Why would they pair me with my own partner?"

Tara wiggles her eyebrows, "Lady Fate works in mysterious ways."

You can't help but smile at her ridiculous optimism. It did make you feel slightly less cynical about the entire thing. Carefully, you flatten the crumpled flier, which also included the mandatoryapplication along with further instructions on how to make an appointment for the match-making process.

Finding a pen from your desk, you grumble, "Ugh, fine. Help me fill out this damn form."

—

You bounce with nerves as you stand outside the locked pod, waiting for your designated appointmenttime to come.

You're not exactly sure if the Association had constructed the pods just for this. Maybe they were repurposed armories. Your specific pod was in a wing that you'd never been in before.

When the clock hits 18:00, the tablet attached to the wall activates, prompting you to input your credentials. Your fingers tremble as you type in your Hunter ID, jumping at the loud sound of the secured door unlocking. It all felt so sterile and jarring—not at all preparing you for what was to follow.

As you step into the room, you're pleasantly surprised. A stark contrast to the exterior pod doorway, the interior is tastefully and warmly furnished. In fact, it feels more lived in than your own apartment. It's undoubtedly to set a more cozy and comfortable ambiance for whatever goes on in these pods. You shudder at the thought, your eyes drifting to the bare bed.

There's a knock on the door that makes you jump. Turning around, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see it's a lab assistant. They introduce themselves before jumping into a brief run-down of what to expect.

"The appointment times are specifically staggered so that you'll have plenty of time to get ready before your partner arrives. They'll enter through the adjoined suite for the sake of anonymity."

Their gloved hand reaches out, placing a large packet of items in your hands.

"Different variations of items you're required to wear to make sure of that as well—blindfold, earbuds, stuff like that. You can use the bathroom down the hall to prepare however you'd like. Change into anything you might've brought."

You mentally kick yourself—you hadn't even thought of wearing something nice. For whatever reason, you thought they'd have some ridiculous contraption set up where you'd never have directly touch or see the other person. Kiss through a hole in the wall or something.

The assistant gives you a bright smile that doesn't quite match the sterility of the situation—the clinical way they've expected you to go about this.

You take a deep breath. You'd decided to take an optimistic approach to this whole intimacy therapy thing, and you intended to do just that. Seeing as there was nothing you could do to get out of it.

"Great. Um…how should I know when to come out?"

"There will be announcements over the intercom and through provided earbuds to guide you through it, but don't worry. Everything is automated with AI and motion sensors. There's no cameras. All instructions are automated."

You give a tight-lipped smile, their words both reassuring you and making you more nervous.

"There will be a cleaning crew here to make sure everything is sanitized and new sheets put in. You'll hear an announcement when they're done."

Entering the bathroom, you try to shake the nerves off. You clutch the sink, looking at your reflection before you splash some cold water on your face. You're unsure how much time passes before you hear an announcement.

"The janitorial crew has finished and your assigned partner will be arriving in 5 minutes. Please bring your chosen sensory blocking devices and return to the main area."

As a last ditch effort, you run out of the bathroom and to the pod door, twisting the handle—groaning when you realize it's locked shut. You type your credentials in on the tablet connected to the wall. It beeps and flashes red.

"Access denied. Session in progress."

You swear, trying again and again to no avail.

"Your assigned partner will arrive in one minute. Please take a seat on the bed and apply your sensory blocking devices."

Taking a deep breath, you retreat to the bed side and plop down, mildly defeated.

You place the sleeping mask over your face and stuff the earbuds into place—silence and darkness surrounding you. You remember what Simone had told you about her own therapy session that she had last week.

"We just cuddled. It was actually very nice."

You could do that.

Seconds pass, feeling like forever. The lack of control starts to make you itch, almost dissociating. Instinctively, your hand reaches for your mask, intending to lift it so you could regather your bearings.

But as you're able to lift the silk material, that same robotic announcement sounds—this time through your earbuds.

"Do not remove sensory blocking devices. This is in violation of procedure."

You screech, the sound inaudible to you with the noise-cancelling earphones in. Your hands snap back to your lap, fidgeting nervously. They'd truly gone all out with the technology to ensure their guidelines would be followed. It would be impressive, if it didn't completely freak you out.

"Your assigned partner has arrived. Please ensure you do not remove sensory blocking devices."

—

There's a soft hiss as the door separating the two suites slides open. Xavier steps through it, making sure to stay absolutely silent—even though he knew his assigned partner wouldn't be able to hear.

His eyes instantly find you seated on the edge of the bed, fidgeting nervously with your eyes covered and ears stuffed.

Of course, he could only see you because he'd completely disobeyed protocol and chosen not to wear any of the sensory blocking devices. He already knew it'd be you anyways, there would be no point.

Besides, he wanted to see you.

It was easy for him to use his Evol to obscure all the sensors in the room, creating light refractions that effectively blinded them without alerting the tech team. And true to the Association's word, there were no cameras—he'd briefly scanned the room with his watch.

For a second, he hesitates. Maybe, he shouldn't do this. Maybe, he should feel guilty for the strings he'd pulled to make this happen—that he knew it was you and you'd never know it was him. Maybe, he should leave before he did something he couldn't take back.

But then you'd find yourself in this same room. Only there would be someone else here—someone that wasn't him.

And that thought alone is enough to push him forward, guilt forgone.

His footsteps are muted as he walks toward you, heart beating with excitement and anticipation. Standing before you, his knees almost touching yours, he ruminates on how to proceed next.

He didn't want to do anything you'd be uncomfortable with. If all you were open to was holding hands and taking a nap then he'd gladly do just that until the session was over.

So he places his hand firmly on your shoulder, squeezing gently to signal that he's there. He holds you in place when you jump with a high-pitched yelp, rubbing your arms soothingly to calm you.

Xavier sits beside you, the bed dipping. The air between you is tense and charged. He wonders if you can feel it too—probably not considering you thought it was some random Hunter from another team that you did not know.

But for him?

For him, he could feel his pants tightening at the mere sight of you sitting on this bed—deprived of your senses. The possibility of the things he could do to you, if you were willing.

His leg brushes against yours as the seconds tick by—awkward and tense. Out of sheer nervousness, your hand reaches out, finding his thigh. Both of you freeze—you, surprised by your own boldness and him, in disbelief of what just one innocent touch could do.

Goosebumps raise on his entire body as his eyes burn holes into the hand you had on his leg, his erection throbbing violently.

Feeling awkward, you snatch your hand away and apologize instinctively—even when you know he can't hear you, "S-Sorry."

Xavier doesn't speak, slowly taking your hand back in his. Gradually, your trembling stops as he holds you, his thumb rubbing into your skin. For a split second, he does feel guilty, taking in your vulnerability. You couldn't see, you couldn't hear. All you had was him—a "stranger."

And for some reason that makes his gut clench with excitement.

The sensory deprivation makes you increasingly defenseless. The absence of sound and sight overwhelmed you—practically exhausting you as the adrenaline started to fade. Leaning into the whole thing, you rest your head on your partner's shoulder. His presence does wonders to soothe your frazzled nerves.

You feel him lean his own head on yours, his warmth blooming through you at the source of contact. Against all odds, you find yourself enjoying the sensation. Simone was right. This was nice.

You feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, strong and secure. His smell envelopes you and you can't help but breathe it in. He smelled good. Familiar even.

Xavier stiffens at how close you are—grateful he didn't wear cologne today. You'd undoubtedly be able to recognize it with how close you were. When you crane your neck upward, he can feel your breath against him. He can see every inch of you, your perfect parted lips, your cheeks dusted in crimson—your blood pounding just beneath your skin.

Using his fingers, Xavier gently digs into your shoulder. He carefully massages out the knots that'd formed throughout weeks of overworking and then the anxiety of the whole intimacy therapy debacle. It felt incredible.

Figuring whoever it is cannot hear you, you don't hold back your thoughts—unable to stop yourself anyways, "Oo—oh…that feels so good. Mmnnn…"

Xavier tenses at your whispered admission, the sound of your beautiful innocent little moans making him light-headed.

"P-Please," he whispers your name, to no one in particular—your earbuds still stuffed firmly into your ears, "You're making it hard to resist."

The void around you throws your remaining senses out of equilibrium, making it increasingly hard to tell what's real and what isn't. The scent, the touch feels oddly familiar—comforting you.

"Oh g-god, mmngh—more. P-Please."

Without your sight and hearing, you're left to latch onto his soft scent to ground yourself to reality and not completely lose yourself in his heavenly touch. He smelled familiar, but you couldn't quite place where you'd smelt it before—too wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

You stop breathing when you feel his palm cup your cheek. Your hands urgently find his chest, unable to stop yourself from gasping when you feel his muscles underneath the fabric. You're about to push him back but you find yourself hesitating.

He felt so good against you.

Reason said to push him away, but desire—your body—wanted to keep him close. Pull him closer. And it was quite the unfair fight.

So with your hands on his chest, your grab two fistfuls of his shirt. Xavier groans, letting himself be pulled to you.

Guilt gnaws at him—he shouldn't do this. He was taking advantage. Of the program, of you.

But…if you didn't know it was him, it'd be okay. Right?

Xavier's jaw clenches when he remembers the fact that he could only keep up this deception of his for so long. Someone would catch on eventually. He knew this was his one opportunity to touch you like this.

…Taste you.

And he wouldn't waste it.

The sensation of his lips on yours send a physical jolt down your spine. Your body convulses briefly—completely unprepared for it. Being unable to see or hear made everything a surprise and it was an electrical shock to your system each time, every sensation amplified.

You moan into him, his tongue gentle as it hesitantly prods at your bottom lip—silently asking for entry. The surprise feels inexplicably welcome, warming your body from the inside out. You can't see, you can't hear. All you can do is feel.

You part your lips hesitantly—silently inviting him for more. Your mind flickers briefly to Xavier, heart dropping in guilt. Quickly, you push that thought away. You weren't doing anything wrong.

You and Xavier were nothing more than coworkers.

And besides, he would be in your exact position—only with someone else. And that made your heart ache—making you all the more willing.

Xavier surges at the opportunity, his tongue instantly entering your mouth. You moan softly, the new tactile sensation overwhelming you in the best way.

"Y-You're beautiful," he whispers when he pulls away, using his thumb to wipe off the spit from your bottom lip. His fingers itch, almost wanting to lift your mask—wanting to see your eyes.

He holds you securely, swiftly pulling you onto his lap when your back arches so strongly that you nearly slip off the bed—not realizing how close to the edge you'd gotten. Your arms loop around the back of his neck, holding tightly.

Xavier chokes at the feeling of your ass on top of his erection, moaning unabashedly. His hand slides beneath your shirt, palming your bare stomach. You whimper at the sudden and unexpected touch.

As his fingers crawl up your stomach, you arch beautifully for him, your body inviting him for more. Xavier's fingertips slowly inch upward until they're tracing the underwire of your bra, holding you tightly as you writhe.

"I want you," Xavier all but pleads, even knowing you can't hear him, "W-Will you let me?"

Part of you can't believe how far you're suddenly willing to go with this stranger. Just 15 minutes ago you were telling yourself you weren't interested in going farther than a kiss—if even that.

But something about him…made you so comfortable. So safe.

Only one other person had ever made you feel this safe.

Wanting to encourage him further, you boldly pull your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you. That simple action seems to fuel Xavier with the confidence he needs. You squeal when he lifts you, his arm under the back of your knees, gently tossing you onto the bed.

Not being able to see drives you insane. You feel exposed in your bra, left in complete darkness and silence.

Xavier nearly drools as he admires your lingerie, his fist clenching when he thinks about how you'd worn them for someone that wasn't him.

It didn't matter. It was him, even if that was only due to the fact that he'd completely manipulated the system—manipulated you.

Jealousy and possessiveness gnaws at Xavier, his actions far more demanding now.

You squeal when you feel him again, this time between your legs—hovering atop you. He doesn't put too much weight on you, using one hand to yank your lips towards again. The force makes you shiver, grateful that you can rely on him to direct you.

You expect him to kiss you, but he doesn't. It feel like an eternity passes before you feel his lips, this time at your jaw, kissing down your neck and then collar.

"F-Fuck, just like that," you moan to yourself, fingers threading behind his head and pulling him closer.

Xavier's jaw clenches painfully as he struggles to hold himself back, trying to pace himself. But it's futile, his shaking hands instinctively sliding beneath your lower back and lifting you slightly, unhooking your bra with one hand.

Your fingers frantically try to undress him. He quickly lifts his shirt with his free hand, guiding your hands to his abdomen—wanting to feel your hands on him.

Feeling his defined muscles burning under your touch, your breath stutters and your entire body shakes with anticipation. He was muscular.

You gasp when you feel your bra being peeled away, nipples instantly pebbled at the cool air. Your head throbs at how forcefully your blood pounds, the vulnerability more powerful than ever. Needing him to be just as exposed as you, you desperately search for his belt and struggle to undo it.

Thankfully, he gently moves your fingers to the side and you can hear the sound of metal clinking. For a brief second, you vaguely wonder how he is so much more coordinated than you are.

His hands take yours and guide them until your fingers graze something hot, hard, and big.

"Jesus," you swear, unable to contain your awe.

Xavier smiles proudly before pushing you gently back down. A small eternity passes before his lip latch back onto you—this time onto your unsuspecting nipple.

"O-Oh God…" you whisper to yourself, "That feels fucking good."

You can feel him smile against your sensitive skin, bewildering you for a second. Before you can think more on it, he rolls your sensitive peak between his teeth, knowing just how hard to bite.

Your hands fly around blindly, grabbing onto random things. Xavier grabs your hand, never releasing your breast, and puts it against his shoulder—wanting you to hold onto him. Your nails dig in as his hand moves between your bodies, tugging down your pants with ease.

For a second, nothing happens. You're left in dark silence, not knowing what to expect. It makes your heart beat wildly—fear and anticipation mixing all into one potent cocktail of arousal.

Then you feel something sticky press into your leg, the soft delicate skin of his erection rubbing against your inner thighs.

Xavier rolls his hips, fucking himself into your soft thighs, still suckling on your breasts—hickeys now littering them.

You gasp in shock when a finger grazes against your cunt. When you don't do anything to protest, Xavier continues—using two fingers to carefully drag your panties to the side. That small little touch makes you realize how wet your are, smearing your arousal against your lips.

Suddenly, those same cautious fingers enter you, making you lurch with a inaudible scream.

You'd never quite been into blindfolds but now you saw the appeal.

Being deprived of two of your core senses made the others incredibly heightened. Compounded by the idea that you were completely at the mercy of this stranger, unable to anticipate when and what was next.

So when he put his fingers inside of you, the feeling was unlike anything you'd come to expect.

"You're so tight," Xavier whispers in awe, "How…How can you feel this perfect?"

He curls his digits against your gummy walls, bringing his lips to yours and devouring your cries. His eyes darken as he watches you, desperately wishing that you could see him.

How would you look at him? How would it sound if you cried out his name?

He'd never know.

At the very least, he'd find out what it felt like to be inside you.

Fumbling with his pants, he pulls out a small plastic square, tearing it open with his teeth—his hands occupied inside of you.

You gasp, clenching desperately when he pulls out of you. Suddenly, he grabs your hand, guiding your fingers to close over something he's holding. You wince at the slimy feeling, touching some wet and ring shaped.

A condom.

Realizing he's trying to gauge your consent, you guide the condom to his tip—giving him the green light.

Xavier's shaky fingers slide the condom over his reddened cock. Once on, he shifts onto his elbows—hovering above you. The feeling of the lube brushing against your thigh as he positions himself makes you whine with distaste.

"Sorry, angel," Xavier whispers against your shoulder. You can feel him saying something against your skin but can't quite make it out. Instinctively, your fingers come up to remove the earbuds—your hand moving without much thought.

You stop when the earbuds are halfway out, remembering the earsplitting announcement that would sound through them when you so much as readjusted it.

But no warning plays.

You stuff the earbuds halfway back in, briefly wondering why there was no sound. You're completely knocked off guard from your thoughts when you feel your partner's thick cock head nudging your lips apart, brushing against your swollen clit.

Your fingers abandon the earpieces, instead finding his head and tugging against his hair. It's so soft in your hands, reminding you briefly of someone else's fluffy down-like hair.

Your mind reels with a violent swarm if confusing thoughts, your confusion exacerbated by your vulnerability.

Xavier reads the bewilderment on your face, freezing for a split second before decisively pressing into you—effectively distracting you from whatever it is you're putting together.

You jerk, crying out as your back arches off the bed. His strong hands hold you down, kissing down your neck as he eases into you.

"O-Oh…you feel so good…" he groans out your name uncontrollably, teeth digging into your shoulder—entirely forgetting how close he is to your ear, where your earbud sits, not fully engaged. Luckily for him, your cries of pleasure are so loud and unabashed that you can't hear anything over them.

You don't think you've ever been stretched this fully before, making you scream. He was big—scarily so. He attacks your senses, alternating littering hickeys between your neck, collar, and breasts—all while wildly bucking into you.

Something about the way he hammers into you drives you wild. It wasn't so much that he felt inexperienced, because he didn't. He was making you feel far too good to be new to this. But his enthusiasm bordered on insanity, like someone who'd been waiting years for this.

Xavier struggles to breathe, your body stealing his breath away with every inch you take. Blood pounds in his ears, in disbelief that this was actually happening—that he was actually inside of you. He'd fantasized about this countless times, and each and every fantasy paled in comparison to the real thing.

"I've w-wanted this, wanted you, for so l-long," he whispers as he bottoms out, "I wish you could see me."

With your earbud partially falling out, you can vaguely hear him saying something but you can't fully make it out. His hips slam into your thighs, causing you to choke.

"Nnnghh….feels good," you whimper, gasping with pleasure as he pulls out slowly. When he thrusts back into you—powerful, desperate, and demanding—the sheer force of it fully knocks the earbud loose.

The sudden influx of sound makes your toes curl. The sounds of labored breathing. Muffled groans. Skin against skin.

Still. No warning.

Testing the waters, you gently take the one that was in your other ear out—and sure enough, no warning plays. You could hear everything.

It was wrong, wasn't it? To be able to hear—when your partner couldn't?

Oh, well.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers raking down his back. He hisses, the sound making you moan with excitement.

You wished he'd be louder, desperate for more after regaining your hearing. But all you can hear the wet paps of his balls as they slam against you.

Maybe you could force him louder. You wanted to hear his voice.

Meanwhile, Xavier is so occupied in how fucking heavenly you feel that he doesn't notice—his eyes screwed shut as he commits the feeling of your perfect pussy to memory.

When you tug his hair forcefully, desperate to kiss him again, Xavier groans uncontrollably at your eagerness. Your eyes widen beneath your silk mask. He sounded so damn familiar, but from that noise alone you can't place it. As he continues to hammer into you, he grunts and groans—never quite doing more than that.

Even his heavy breathing turned you on.

Xavier kisses you, his arousal reaching new heights as your legs wrap around him—locking his body to yours, demanding he fuck you harder.

And he does, pounding into you so harshly that you squeal—the sensation of him inside of you making your entire body numb to everything except him and his thick cock claiming every inch of you.

You felt perfect.

Nearly perfect. If it weren't for that damn latex.

What would happen if he…simply took the condom off?

Xavier shakes his head at the thought, trying to physically push it away. That wasn't right. It wasn't. He couldn't.

But…you'd never know.

He looks down at you, your perfect skin covered in his marks. Your breasts bouncing, hypnotizing him as he splits you open—your glistening cunt quivering as you take every inch of him. Your swollen lips begging for more, singing the most beautiful cries.

He might never get this opportunity again—the chance to be with you. He'd forever live imagining what your raw pussy would feel like against his bare cock. He'd regret it for the rest of his life.

You whine with displeasure when he pulls out of you for a brief second, confused what was happening. You didn't hear any announcements, so you weren't exactly sure why he was stopping. All you can hear is his breathy pants, still robbed of your sight.

Until you hear the distinct sound of plastic snapping followed by a strange splat.

You're not exactly sure what it comes from, and you don't have much time to contemplate it before his cock is back at your entrance—coaxing you open once more.

Xavier's heart pounds painfully as he tosses the condom to the side, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Holding his cock at the base, he lines himself back up with you, hissing at the feeling of your dripping lips against his bare skin.

You felt like heaven wrapped around him and he'd willingly go to hell for you.

He wants to be patient, gentle—savor the sacred feeling of your raw body. But his body refuses, his pelvis slamming into you once more, forcing your thighs apart so you can accommodate his insatiable eagerness once more.

A sultry moan peels from your lips at the feeling. His familiar stretch makes you writhe, each inch driving you closer and closer to an explosive orgasm. You can feel your body becoming addicted, your body sucking him in eagerly.

"Fuck," you gasp as he bottoms out. Something felt different—he felt warmer, softer. And he'd been fucking his way into your throat before, but now? You could feel him in your soul.

He moans—unable to control himself when you squeeze him, raw and tight, "M-Mine. All mine." He repeats it over and over, as if trying to speak it into existence.

That voice.

With herculean effort, you reach for the sleeping mask, pulling it away from your eyes.

He groans when you tighten painfully, nearly forcing the orgasm out of him. His head is thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy, hips losing their rhythm when your name slips out of his lips uncontrollably—still oblivious to what's dawning on you, "P-Please…I n-need to fill you up."

"X-Xavier?!"

Your eyes are wide in shock, struggling to readjust to the sudden light, as you come face to face with familiar cerulean eyes, as surprised as yours. Your body aches in distress when he stills his movements, though not pulling out.

"I…" Xavier fumbles for an excuse, but ultimately he knows it's useless. Even if he were to say it was a happy coincidence, he doubted you'd be gullible enough to believe it—seeing as there wasn't a blindfold or earpiece in sight.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispers, leaning over you and cupping your cheek. The slight movement causes him to shift inside of you, eliciting an uncontrollable moan from your kiss-bitten lips.

"W-What are you…" you trail off, at a loss for words—heart pounding alarmingly fast.

Xavier's unsure what dots you've connected, but he's already apologizing—the fear of losing you gripping him as tightly as your perfect pussy, "P-Please don't hate me. I had to."

He whispers your name, the sound of it making you shudder as it dawns on you that Xavier knew it was you from the start. Maybe even before then.

At your prolonged shocked silence, Xavier continues to ramble—desperate not to lose you completely, "I couldn't let someone else touch you. It needed to be me. Please understand."

His words make your tummy flutter.

He needed you.

You're suffocated as it hits you all it once. It was Xavier kissing you, Xavier touching you, Xavier inside of you.

"Please say something,"Xavier whispers, his forehead coming to rest on yours.

"I…" you look up at his pleading eyes, his entire body trembling with the weight of his restraint.

"Thank god it's you."

The air is frighteningly still as the two of you just stare at each other with disbelieving eyes. And then, suddenly, Xavier dips down—capturing your lips again. This time, he doesn't bother trying to stay silent.

"Mmnngh—hah…you don't know how long I've wanted you."

His hips regain their rhythm, picking up right where he'd left off. You moan, ripping your lips away, desperate to look down and finally see.

Xavier's well-defined abdomen heaved as his thick cock disappears inside of you repeatedly. He's big, his dick flushed an excited pink. It glistens with your juices, your arousal shining against his skin.

It's then you realize he's not wearing a condom, not anymore. That's what that sound was.

"Xavier—nnngh…" you whimper with nervous eyes. Xavier moans at the sound of his name finally leaving your lips, "T-The condom?"

Xavier freezes for a fraction of a second before pounding into you again, as if trying to fuck that realization out of you. Among all his manipulative transgression, that might've been the worst.

"I-I couldn't help it," he whispers, kissing your shoulder in apology, his voice sweet and small—burying his guilty expression in your neck, "I needed to feel you. It was my only chance."

Only chance.

That notion tastes bitter on your tongue.

"Forgive me," he groans, his fingers digging deeply into you, holding you in place. His frenzied thrusts are almost brutal, overwhelming you entirely.

"Mmnngh…I'll take c-care of you. If something happens."

You groan at that, the thought invading you viciously. It almost sounded like he wanted something to happen.

"You will?" you whimper, arching as his hits that deep sensitive sweet spot. With his big hands, he supports you—holding you with one and while the other brackets your head.

Xavier's azure eyes darken as he nods, "Yes. Mine. You're mine."

Your stomach churns excitedly at his possessive declaration, ready to snap—your impending orgasm growing to painful heights.

"G-Gonna cum," you whimper, holding his face with both your hands. He chokes, sweat starting to drip down his temple.

"Y-Yes," he groans, whispering your name, "Please."

You pull his face closer, fervently mashing your lips to his as his excitement reaches a fever pitch, the bed frame colliding repeatedly with the wall.

Xavier's eyes are hazy when he pulls away, hooded with indescribable emotions.

"Say my name," he demands, almost aggressively, "I want to hear it."

Now that he doesn't have to hide himself, he's desperate to hear you cry for him. Not for whichever random hunter you thought you'd been paired up with.

Him. His name. His touch. His cock.

"Ah—unghhh…X-Xavier!" you moan, squealing when he captures your nipple in his lips—sucking aggressively, your toes curly as your climax looms over you.

"A-Again," he murmurs, words shaky against your breasts, sucking pretty little hickeys into your skin—his own orgasm ready to ravage him.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, rhythm faltering—messy and uncoordinated, "Tell me you'll let me fill you up."

You nod without thinking, not being able to fathom the thought of him pulling out—wanting to feel his warmth. As you descend into the depths of your orgasm, you beg, "Nnngh….P-Please Xavier. I-I want it."

Xavier shudders, his bright blue eyes beholding you before he kisses you again—his urgent tongue invading your mouth and swallowing your orgasmic cries.

He slides his forearm under your neck, lifting you slightly off the bed while using his free hand to grip the headboard. Not even a hair could fit between you, your bodies melded together tightly as you came together.

"F-Fuck," he gasps, "T-Take it. Take it all."

His hips continue to roll as he pumps you full of his thick hot seed, your cunt convulsing frantically against his throbbing erection—still solid as he pulls away to breath, crying your name repeatedly.

"Oh, Xavier—that was…" you whimper, your thighs trembling uncontrollably—aching in protest to Xavier's heavy body still pushing them apart. Xavier groans at your whimper, his cock twitching—spurting another rivulet of his spend against your tight gummy walls.

"I like it when you say my name," he whispers, collapsing onto you and catching himself on his elbows, "Say it again."

You chuckle, purposely drawling his name, voice silky and playful, "Xavier."

He makes a sound halfway between a growl and a groan, holding you tighter. You giggle as he rolls onto his side, taking you with him so he doesn't slip out—desperate to prolong this moment for as long as he can. He glances at the clock. It reads 18:47.

Sure, he could find ways to manipulate the system—like he'd done with the cameras and motion sensors, but there would more than likely be another session after theirs. It wouldn't be long before a cleaning crew was knocking on the pod doors—kicking them out.

He's snapped out of his thoughts when you speak softly, finally voicing your confusion, "Xavier? How did you…I thought the program specifically prohibits…"

Xavier avoids eye contact, trying to choose his words as carefully as possible, "I…I made it happen. Don't worry about it."

You look up curiously at him, "So…what? We get each other this one time and then next time it's someone else? And we just go back to being mission partners?"

He stiffens noticeably, his grip tightening around you, "No. Not someone else."

The thought of that makes Xavier nauseous. Knowing what you'd done today—experiencing it—and then imagining you being paired with anyone else? No. He'd never let that happen.

Honestly, he hadn't thought this far.

"I-I'll take care of it. I…I know someone on the matchmaking algorithms team. And the cameras are easy enough to interfere with. Same with the motion sensors. We just need to make sure we pick the same session times and—"

You take his face into your hands again. His eyes widen with surprise, cheeks reddening as he registers how close you are—how close you still are.

"Or you can just ask me out to dinner."

Xavier pauses, the weight of your words settling on him. Right. Personal relationships exempted hunters from the intimacy therapy program.

Personal relationship.

He wanted that. With you.

Clearing his throat, Xavier smiles sheepishly. It felt absurd. He could physically feel his cock still plugging you up with his release, white streaks dripping down your thighs. All the while, talking about taking you out officially for the first time.

"Right. Will you please go to dinner with me?"

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. the dividers in this post are by @/cursed-carmine. please do not reuse my usual blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[sylvieisoffline]

AAAAAAAA

[aeyumicore]

KINKTOBER 2025 DAY 5 ━ INTIMACY THERAPY

$15.99 MAIN COURSE 3 ━ XAVIER 沈星回 synopsis. the hunter's association enacts a new mandatory program—intimacy therapy. the catch? you cannot pick, see, or hear your partner. and xavier plans to take full advantage. inspired by @/unintentionalseductresses's prescription for pleasure. wc. 6.5k please mind the content warnings.

━ ✧ cw: mdni, explicit sexual content, sensory play and deprivation, mandated anonymous sex for stress relief, xavier knows it's you but you don't know it's him, calculated and manipulative xavier, first-time (not virginity loss), not canon-compliant, unconsented condom removal, brief mentions of pregnancy and small breeding kink, dual pov (reader and xavier's)

━ ✧ links: kinktober 2025 masterlist | ao3 | general masterlist | inspo fic

━ ✧ an: day five of my kinktober! as well as a belated happy birthday too xavier <3

this is inspired heavily by the premise of @/uninterestedseductress' fic "prescription for pleasure" with her permission of course! please check her fic out and show her some love. SUCH a fun plot.

please make sure you read the warnings. if you are uncomfortable by them, do not read.

"This is quite literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Tara giggles as you crumple the flier in your hands, reflecting your sentiments on the requirements outlined in them.

"Mandated intimacy therapy? Do they realize how stupid they sound?"

She takes the crumpled sheet of paper from your hands, "Come on. It's not that bad."

You raise an eyebrow at her, "Shut up. You're only saying that because you don't have to do it."

Tara had recently gotten into a relationship, exempting her from the new mandated therapy program the Hunter's Association had put into place. Those in pre-existing relationships, of any kind—romantic or mutually beneficial, would not have to participate, as they were getting physical intimacy in their personal lives.

"How would they even know if I was getting it? I could literally check this box and they'd never know."

Tara rolls her eyes, "You know how the Association is. They'd know."

You curse under your breath, knowing she's right. Between their security team, covert operations, and subprograms you didn't even want to know about, you knew you couldn't get away with hiding anything from them.

"Maybe this is a good thing! You've been forever saying you miss sex."

You peek up from your pillow and scoff, "The flier says intimate physical contact. It doesn't specify sex. All they're getting out of me is a hug. Then I'm out."

Tara rolls her eyes, "Honestly, this will be good for you. You're wound as tightly as I've ever seen you."

You smack her with your pillow, to which she dodges easily.

"Besides, you've seen what's been happening. Hunters burning out, crashing out. It's only gotten worse lately. I don't want that to happen to you."

As the Wanderer issue had progressed, the number of Hunters joining the Association had significantly declined and the number leaving had increased—whether by choice or force. As a result, missions were often now handled solo, regardless of existing work partnerships.

After conducting a mental health examination on all the Hunters, especially those in the UNICORN division, it was discovered that their overall psychological well-being was abysmal, exacerbated by the increase of solo missions.

And they'd cited the reason as lack of physical contact.

So, working with some of the most reputable physicians and surgeons in the country, they'd created a meticulous therapy program.

In crude terms it was essentially mandated sex for stress-relief. Of course, the guidelines said "physical contact" but the procedure brief detailed the benefits each level of physical contact could have. And of course, sexual intimacy sat at the top.

All you can do is scoff. You know there's truth to Tara's words—the demands of the job had become unbearably heavy, and no matter what you did, you couldn't quite lift that fog.

You'd tried new hobbies, making time for yourself and for friends, tried to connect more with nature, exercised more.

And while all those things did help, there was an undeniable tangle of tension that lingered. Depending on how you looked at it, this could be a good thing. But you'd never admit that.

You grumble unhappily, "It's dumb. They don't even let you pick a partner for this stupid thing."

Tara gives you an amused look, "Oh? Did you have someone in mind?"

Your cheeks flush at Tara's knowing tease, averting your eyes. She bursts into a fit of giggles, taking the flier from your hands.

"You never know. Maybe you'll get paired with our favorite silver-haired enigma. It does say they have an extensive and thorough match-making system. And you guys are perfect!"

"That's not—I-I didn't—" you splutter, to which Tara rolls her eyes playfully.

"It specifically says it is anonymous so as to not encourage relationships between co-workers. And they change your pairing each session," you deflect, "Why would they pair me with my own partner?"

Tara wiggles her eyebrows, "Lady Fate works in mysterious ways."

You can't help but smile at her ridiculous optimism. It did make you feel slightly less cynical about the entire thing. Carefully, you flatten the crumpled flier, which also included the mandatoryapplication along with further instructions on how to make an appointment for the match-making process.

Finding a pen from your desk, you grumble, "Ugh, fine. Help me fill out this damn form."

—

You bounce with nerves as you stand outside the locked pod, waiting for your designated appointmenttime to come.

You're not exactly sure if the Association had constructed the pods just for this. Maybe they were repurposed armories. Your specific pod was in a wing that you'd never been in before.

When the clock hits 18:00, the tablet attached to the wall activates, prompting you to input your credentials. Your fingers tremble as you type in your Hunter ID, jumping at the loud sound of the secured door unlocking. It all felt so sterile and jarring—not at all preparing you for what was to follow.

As you step into the room, you're pleasantly surprised. A stark contrast to the exterior pod doorway, the interior is tastefully and warmly furnished. In fact, it feels more lived in than your own apartment. It's undoubtedly to set a more cozy and comfortable ambiance for whatever goes on in these pods. You shudder at the thought, your eyes drifting to the bare bed.

There's a knock on the door that makes you jump. Turning around, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see it's a lab assistant. They introduce themselves before jumping into a brief run-down of what to expect.

"The appointment times are specifically staggered so that you'll have plenty of time to get ready before your partner arrives. They'll enter through the adjoined suite for the sake of anonymity."

Their gloved hand reaches out, placing a large packet of items in your hands.

"Different variations of items you're required to wear to make sure of that as well—blindfold, earbuds, stuff like that. You can use the bathroom down the hall to prepare however you'd like. Change into anything you might've brought."

You mentally kick yourself—you hadn't even thought of wearing something nice. For whatever reason, you thought they'd have some ridiculous contraption set up where you'd never have directly touch or see the other person. Kiss through a hole in the wall or something.

The assistant gives you a bright smile that doesn't quite match the sterility of the situation—the clinical way they've expected you to go about this.

You take a deep breath. You'd decided to take an optimistic approach to this whole intimacy therapy thing, and you intended to do just that. Seeing as there was nothing you could do to get out of it.

"Great. Um…how should I know when to come out?"

"There will be announcements over the intercom and through provided earbuds to guide you through it, but don't worry. Everything is automated with AI and motion sensors. There's no cameras. All instructions are automated."

You give a tight-lipped smile, their words both reassuring you and making you more nervous.

"There will be a cleaning crew here to make sure everything is sanitized and new sheets put in. You'll hear an announcement when they're done."

Entering the bathroom, you try to shake the nerves off. You clutch the sink, looking at your reflection before you splash some cold water on your face. You're unsure how much time passes before you hear an announcement.

"The janitorial crew has finished and your assigned partner will be arriving in 5 minutes. Please bring your chosen sensory blocking devices and return to the main area."

As a last ditch effort, you run out of the bathroom and to the pod door, twisting the handle—groaning when you realize it's locked shut. You type your credentials in on the tablet connected to the wall. It beeps and flashes red.

"Access denied. Session in progress."

You swear, trying again and again to no avail.

"Your assigned partner will arrive in one minute. Please take a seat on the bed and apply your sensory blocking devices."

Taking a deep breath, you retreat to the bed side and plop down, mildly defeated.

You place the sleeping mask over your face and stuff the earbuds into place—silence and darkness surrounding you. You remember what Simone had told you about her own therapy session that she had last week.

"We just cuddled. It was actually very nice."

You could do that.

Seconds pass, feeling like forever. The lack of control starts to make you itch, almost dissociating. Instinctively, your hand reaches for your mask, intending to lift it so you could regather your bearings.

But as you're able to lift the silk material, that same robotic announcement sounds—this time through your earbuds.

"Do not remove sensory blocking devices. This is in violation of procedure."

You screech, the sound inaudible to you with the noise-cancelling earphones in. Your hands snap back to your lap, fidgeting nervously. They'd truly gone all out with the technology to ensure their guidelines would be followed. It would be impressive, if it didn't completely freak you out.

"Your assigned partner has arrived. Please ensure you do not remove sensory blocking devices."

—

There's a soft hiss as the door separating the two suites slides open. Xavier steps through it, making sure to stay absolutely silent—even though he knew his assigned partner wouldn't be able to hear.

His eyes instantly find you seated on the edge of the bed, fidgeting nervously with your eyes covered and ears stuffed.

Of course, he could only see you because he'd completely disobeyed protocol and chosen not to wear any of the sensory blocking devices. He already knew it'd be you anyways, there would be no point.

Besides, he wanted to see you.

It was easy for him to use his Evol to obscure all the sensors in the room, creating light refractions that effectively blinded them without alerting the tech team. And true to the Association's word, there were no cameras—he'd briefly scanned the room with his watch.

For a second, he hesitates. Maybe, he shouldn't do this. Maybe, he should feel guilty for the strings he'd pulled to make this happen—that he knew it was you and you'd never know it was him. Maybe, he should leave before he did something he couldn't take back.

But then you'd find yourself in this same room. Only there would be someone else here—someone that wasn't him.

And that thought alone is enough to push him forward, guilt forgone.

His footsteps are muted as he walks toward you, heart beating with excitement and anticipation. Standing before you, his knees almost touching yours, he ruminates on how to proceed next.

He didn't want to do anything you'd be uncomfortable with. If all you were open to was holding hands and taking a nap then he'd gladly do just that until the session was over.

So he places his hand firmly on your shoulder, squeezing gently to signal that he's there. He holds you in place when you jump with a high-pitched yelp, rubbing your arms soothingly to calm you.

Xavier sits beside you, the bed dipping. The air between you is tense and charged. He wonders if you can feel it too—probably not considering you thought it was some random Hunter from another team that you did not know.

But for him?

For him, he could feel his pants tightening at the mere sight of you sitting on this bed—deprived of your senses. The possibility of the things he could do to you, if you were willing.

His leg brushes against yours as the seconds tick by—awkward and tense. Out of sheer nervousness, your hand reaches out, finding his thigh. Both of you freeze—you, surprised by your own boldness and him, in disbelief of what just one innocent touch could do.

Goosebumps raise on his entire body as his eyes burn holes into the hand you had on his leg, his erection throbbing violently.

Feeling awkward, you snatch your hand away and apologize instinctively—even when you know he can't hear you, "S-Sorry."

Xavier doesn't speak, slowly taking your hand back in his. Gradually, your trembling stops as he holds you, his thumb rubbing into your skin. For a split second, he does feel guilty, taking in your vulnerability. You couldn't see, you couldn't hear. All you had was him—a "stranger."

And for some reason that makes his gut clench with excitement.

The sensory deprivation makes you increasingly defenseless. The absence of sound and sight overwhelmed you—practically exhausting you as the adrenaline started to fade. Leaning into the whole thing, you rest your head on your partner's shoulder. His presence does wonders to soothe your frazzled nerves.

You feel him lean his own head on yours, his warmth blooming through you at the source of contact. Against all odds, you find yourself enjoying the sensation. Simone was right. This was nice.

You feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, strong and secure. His smell envelopes you and you can't help but breathe it in. He smelled good. Familiar even.

Xavier stiffens at how close you are—grateful he didn't wear cologne today. You'd undoubtedly be able to recognize it with how close you were. When you crane your neck upward, he can feel your breath against him. He can see every inch of you, your perfect parted lips, your cheeks dusted in crimson—your blood pounding just beneath your skin.

Using his fingers, Xavier gently digs into your shoulder. He carefully massages out the knots that'd formed throughout weeks of overworking and then the anxiety of the whole intimacy therapy debacle. It felt incredible.

Figuring whoever it is cannot hear you, you don't hold back your thoughts—unable to stop yourself anyways, "Oo—oh…that feels so good. Mmnnn…"

Xavier tenses at your whispered admission, the sound of your beautiful innocent little moans making him light-headed.

"P-Please," he whispers your name, to no one in particular—your earbuds still stuffed firmly into your ears, "You're making it hard to resist."

The void around you throws your remaining senses out of equilibrium, making it increasingly hard to tell what's real and what isn't. The scent, the touch feels oddly familiar—comforting you.

"Oh g-god, mmngh—more. P-Please."

Without your sight and hearing, you're left to latch onto his soft scent to ground yourself to reality and not completely lose yourself in his heavenly touch. He smelled familiar, but you couldn't quite place where you'd smelt it before—too wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

You stop breathing when you feel his palm cup your cheek. Your hands urgently find his chest, unable to stop yourself from gasping when you feel his muscles underneath the fabric. You're about to push him back but you find yourself hesitating.

He felt so good against you.

Reason said to push him away, but desire—your body—wanted to keep him close. Pull him closer. And it was quite the unfair fight.

So with your hands on his chest, your grab two fistfuls of his shirt. Xavier groans, letting himself be pulled to you.

Guilt gnaws at him—he shouldn't do this. He was taking advantage. Of the program, of you.

But…if you didn't know it was him, it'd be okay. Right?

Xavier's jaw clenches when he remembers the fact that he could only keep up this deception of his for so long. Someone would catch on eventually. He knew this was his one opportunity to touch you like this.

…Taste you.

And he wouldn't waste it.

The sensation of his lips on yours send a physical jolt down your spine. Your body convulses briefly—completely unprepared for it. Being unable to see or hear made everything a surprise and it was an electrical shock to your system each time, every sensation amplified.

You moan into him, his tongue gentle as it hesitantly prods at your bottom lip—silently asking for entry. The surprise feels inexplicably welcome, warming your body from the inside out. You can't see, you can't hear. All you can do is feel.

You part your lips hesitantly—silently inviting him for more. Your mind flickers briefly to Xavier, heart dropping in guilt. Quickly, you push that thought away. You weren't doing anything wrong.

You and Xavier were nothing more than coworkers.

And besides, he would be in your exact position—only with someone else. And that made your heart ache—making you all the more willing.

Xavier surges at the opportunity, his tongue instantly entering your mouth. You moan softly, the new tactile sensation overwhelming you in the best way.

"Y-You're beautiful," he whispers when he pulls away, using his thumb to wipe off the spit from your bottom lip. His fingers itch, almost wanting to lift your mask—wanting to see your eyes.

He holds you securely, swiftly pulling you onto his lap when your back arches so strongly that you nearly slip off the bed—not realizing how close to the edge you'd gotten. Your arms loop around the back of his neck, holding tightly.

Xavier chokes at the feeling of your ass on top of his erection, moaning unabashedly. His hand slides beneath your shirt, palming your bare stomach. You whimper at the sudden and unexpected touch.

As his fingers crawl up your stomach, you arch beautifully for him, your body inviting him for more. Xavier's fingertips slowly inch upward until they're tracing the underwire of your bra, holding you tightly as you writhe.

"I want you," Xavier all but pleads, even knowing you can't hear him, "W-Will you let me?"

Part of you can't believe how far you're suddenly willing to go with this stranger. Just 15 minutes ago you were telling yourself you weren't interested in going farther than a kiss—if even that.

But something about him…made you so comfortable. So safe.

Only one other person had ever made you feel this safe.

Wanting to encourage him further, you boldly pull your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you. That simple action seems to fuel Xavier with the confidence he needs. You squeal when he lifts you, his arm under the back of your knees, gently tossing you onto the bed.

Not being able to see drives you insane. You feel exposed in your bra, left in complete darkness and silence.

Xavier nearly drools as he admires your lingerie, his fist clenching when he thinks about how you'd worn them for someone that wasn't him.

It didn't matter. It was him, even if that was only due to the fact that he'd completely manipulated the system—manipulated you.

Jealousy and possessiveness gnaws at Xavier, his actions far more demanding now.

You squeal when you feel him again, this time between your legs—hovering atop you. He doesn't put too much weight on you, using one hand to yank your lips towards again. The force makes you shiver, grateful that you can rely on him to direct you.

You expect him to kiss you, but he doesn't. It feel like an eternity passes before you feel his lips, this time at your jaw, kissing down your neck and then collar.

"F-Fuck, just like that," you moan to yourself, fingers threading behind his head and pulling him closer.

Xavier's jaw clenches painfully as he struggles to hold himself back, trying to pace himself. But it's futile, his shaking hands instinctively sliding beneath your lower back and lifting you slightly, unhooking your bra with one hand.

Your fingers frantically try to undress him. He quickly lifts his shirt with his free hand, guiding your hands to his abdomen—wanting to feel your hands on him.

Feeling his defined muscles burning under your touch, your breath stutters and your entire body shakes with anticipation. He was muscular.

You gasp when you feel your bra being peeled away, nipples instantly pebbled at the cool air. Your head throbs at how forcefully your blood pounds, the vulnerability more powerful than ever. Needing him to be just as exposed as you, you desperately search for his belt and struggle to undo it.

Thankfully, he gently moves your fingers to the side and you can hear the sound of metal clinking. For a brief second, you vaguely wonder how he is so much more coordinated than you are.

His hands take yours and guide them until your fingers graze something hot, hard, and big.

"Jesus," you swear, unable to contain your awe.

Xavier smiles proudly before pushing you gently back down. A small eternity passes before his lip latch back onto you—this time onto your unsuspecting nipple.

"O-Oh God…" you whisper to yourself, "That feels fucking good."

You can feel him smile against your sensitive skin, bewildering you for a second. Before you can think more on it, he rolls your sensitive peak between his teeth, knowing just how hard to bite.

Your hands fly around blindly, grabbing onto random things. Xavier grabs your hand, never releasing your breast, and puts it against his shoulder—wanting you to hold onto him. Your nails dig in as his hand moves between your bodies, tugging down your pants with ease.

For a second, nothing happens. You're left in dark silence, not knowing what to expect. It makes your heart beat wildly—fear and anticipation mixing all into one potent cocktail of arousal.

Then you feel something sticky press into your leg, the soft delicate skin of his erection rubbing against your inner thighs.

Xavier rolls his hips, fucking himself into your soft thighs, still suckling on your breasts—hickeys now littering them.

You gasp in shock when a finger grazes against your cunt. When you don't do anything to protest, Xavier continues—using two fingers to carefully drag your panties to the side. That small little touch makes you realize how wet your are, smearing your arousal against your lips.

Suddenly, those same cautious fingers enter you, making you lurch with a inaudible scream.

You'd never quite been into blindfolds but now you saw the appeal.

Being deprived of two of your core senses made the others incredibly heightened. Compounded by the idea that you were completely at the mercy of this stranger, unable to anticipate when and what was next.

So when he put his fingers inside of you, the feeling was unlike anything you'd come to expect.

"You're so tight," Xavier whispers in awe, "How…How can you feel this perfect?"

He curls his digits against your gummy walls, bringing his lips to yours and devouring your cries. His eyes darken as he watches you, desperately wishing that you could see him.

How would you look at him? How would it sound if you cried out his name?

He'd never know.

At the very least, he'd find out what it felt like to be inside you.

Fumbling with his pants, he pulls out a small plastic square, tearing it open with his teeth—his hands occupied inside of you.

You gasp, clenching desperately when he pulls out of you. Suddenly, he grabs your hand, guiding your fingers to close over something he's holding. You wince at the slimy feeling, touching some wet and ring shaped.

A condom.

Realizing he's trying to gauge your consent, you guide the condom to his tip—giving him the green light.

Xavier's shaky fingers slide the condom over his reddened cock. Once on, he shifts onto his elbows—hovering above you. The feeling of the lube brushing against your thigh as he positions himself makes you whine with distaste.

"Sorry, angel," Xavier whispers against your shoulder. You can feel him saying something against your skin but can't quite make it out. Instinctively, your fingers come up to remove the earbuds—your hand moving without much thought.

You stop when the earbuds are halfway out, remembering the earsplitting announcement that would sound through them when you so much as readjusted it.

But no warning plays.

You stuff the earbuds halfway back in, briefly wondering why there was no sound. You're completely knocked off guard from your thoughts when you feel your partner's thick cock head nudging your lips apart, brushing against your swollen clit.

Your fingers abandon the earpieces, instead finding his head and tugging against his hair. It's so soft in your hands, reminding you briefly of someone else's fluffy down-like hair.

Your mind reels with a violent swarm if confusing thoughts, your confusion exacerbated by your vulnerability.

Xavier reads the bewilderment on your face, freezing for a split second before decisively pressing into you—effectively distracting you from whatever it is you're putting together.

You jerk, crying out as your back arches off the bed. His strong hands hold you down, kissing down your neck as he eases into you.

"O-Oh…you feel so good…" he groans out your name uncontrollably, teeth digging into your shoulder—entirely forgetting how close he is to your ear, where your earbud sits, not fully engaged. Luckily for him, your cries of pleasure are so loud and unabashed that you can't hear anything over them.

You don't think you've ever been stretched this fully before, making you scream. He was big—scarily so. He attacks your senses, alternating littering hickeys between your neck, collar, and breasts—all while wildly bucking into you.

Something about the way he hammers into you drives you wild. It wasn't so much that he felt inexperienced, because he didn't. He was making you feel far too good to be new to this. But his enthusiasm bordered on insanity, like someone who'd been waiting years for this.

Xavier struggles to breathe, your body stealing his breath away with every inch you take. Blood pounds in his ears, in disbelief that this was actually happening—that he was actually inside of you. He'd fantasized about this countless times, and each and every fantasy paled in comparison to the real thing.

"I've w-wanted this, wanted you, for so l-long," he whispers as he bottoms out, "I wish you could see me."

With your earbud partially falling out, you can vaguely hear him saying something but you can't fully make it out. His hips slam into your thighs, causing you to choke.

"Nnnghh….feels good," you whimper, gasping with pleasure as he pulls out slowly. When he thrusts back into you—powerful, desperate, and demanding—the sheer force of it fully knocks the earbud loose.

The sudden influx of sound makes your toes curl. The sounds of labored breathing. Muffled groans. Skin against skin.

Still. No warning.

Testing the waters, you gently take the one that was in your other ear out—and sure enough, no warning plays. You could hear everything.

It was wrong, wasn't it? To be able to hear—when your partner couldn't?

Oh, well.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers raking down his back. He hisses, the sound making you moan with excitement.

You wished he'd be louder, desperate for more after regaining your hearing. But all you can hear the wet paps of his balls as they slam against you.

Maybe you could force him louder. You wanted to hear his voice.

Meanwhile, Xavier is so occupied in how fucking heavenly you feel that he doesn't notice—his eyes screwed shut as he commits the feeling of your perfect pussy to memory.

When you tug his hair forcefully, desperate to kiss him again, Xavier groans uncontrollably at your eagerness. Your eyes widen beneath your silk mask. He sounded so damn familiar, but from that noise alone you can't place it. As he continues to hammer into you, he grunts and groans—never quite doing more than that.

Even his heavy breathing turned you on.

Xavier kisses you, his arousal reaching new heights as your legs wrap around him—locking his body to yours, demanding he fuck you harder.

And he does, pounding into you so harshly that you squeal—the sensation of him inside of you making your entire body numb to everything except him and his thick cock claiming every inch of you.

You felt perfect.

Nearly perfect. If it weren't for that damn latex.

What would happen if he…simply took the condom off?

Xavier shakes his head at the thought, trying to physically push it away. That wasn't right. It wasn't. He couldn't.

But…you'd never know.

He looks down at you, your perfect skin covered in his marks. Your breasts bouncing, hypnotizing him as he splits you open—your glistening cunt quivering as you take every inch of him. Your swollen lips begging for more, singing the most beautiful cries.

He might never get this opportunity again—the chance to be with you. He'd forever live imagining what your raw pussy would feel like against his bare cock. He'd regret it for the rest of his life.

You whine with displeasure when he pulls out of you for a brief second, confused what was happening. You didn't hear any announcements, so you weren't exactly sure why he was stopping. All you can hear is his breathy pants, still robbed of your sight.

Until you hear the distinct sound of plastic snapping followed by a strange splat.

You're not exactly sure what it comes from, and you don't have much time to contemplate it before his cock is back at your entrance—coaxing you open once more.

Xavier's heart pounds painfully as he tosses the condom to the side, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Holding his cock at the base, he lines himself back up with you, hissing at the feeling of your dripping lips against his bare skin.

You felt like heaven wrapped around him and he'd willingly go to hell for you.

He wants to be patient, gentle—savor the sacred feeling of your raw body. But his body refuses, his pelvis slamming into you once more, forcing your thighs apart so you can accommodate his insatiable eagerness once more.

A sultry moan peels from your lips at the feeling. His familiar stretch makes you writhe, each inch driving you closer and closer to an explosive orgasm. You can feel your body becoming addicted, your body sucking him in eagerly.

"Fuck," you gasp as he bottoms out. Something felt different—he felt warmer, softer. And he'd been fucking his way into your throat before, but now? You could feel him in your soul.

He moans—unable to control himself when you squeeze him, raw and tight, "M-Mine. All mine." He repeats it over and over, as if trying to speak it into existence.

That voice.

With herculean effort, you reach for the sleeping mask, pulling it away from your eyes.

He groans when you tighten painfully, nearly forcing the orgasm out of him. His head is thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy, hips losing their rhythm when your name slips out of his lips uncontrollably—still oblivious to what's dawning on you, "P-Please…I n-need to fill you up."

"X-Xavier?!"

Your eyes are wide in shock, struggling to readjust to the sudden light, as you come face to face with familiar cerulean eyes, as surprised as yours. Your body aches in distress when he stills his movements, though not pulling out.

"I…" Xavier fumbles for an excuse, but ultimately he knows it's useless. Even if he were to say it was a happy coincidence, he doubted you'd be gullible enough to believe it—seeing as there wasn't a blindfold or earpiece in sight.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispers, leaning over you and cupping your cheek. The slight movement causes him to shift inside of you, eliciting an uncontrollable moan from your kiss-bitten lips.

"W-What are you…" you trail off, at a loss for words—heart pounding alarmingly fast.

Xavier's unsure what dots you've connected, but he's already apologizing—the fear of losing you gripping him as tightly as your perfect pussy, "P-Please don't hate me. I had to."

He whispers your name, the sound of it making you shudder as it dawns on you that Xavier knew it was you from the start. Maybe even before then.

At your prolonged shocked silence, Xavier continues to ramble—desperate not to lose you completely, "I couldn't let someone else touch you. It needed to be me. Please understand."

His words make your tummy flutter.

He needed you.

You're suffocated as it hits you all it once. It was Xavier kissing you, Xavier touching you, Xavier inside of you.

"Please say something,"Xavier whispers, his forehead coming to rest on yours.

"I…" you look up at his pleading eyes, his entire body trembling with the weight of his restraint.

"Thank god it's you."

The air is frighteningly still as the two of you just stare at each other with disbelieving eyes. And then, suddenly, Xavier dips down—capturing your lips again. This time, he doesn't bother trying to stay silent.

"Mmnngh—hah…you don't know how long I've wanted you."

His hips regain their rhythm, picking up right where he'd left off. You moan, ripping your lips away, desperate to look down and finally see.

Xavier's well-defined abdomen heaved as his thick cock disappears inside of you repeatedly. He's big, his dick flushed an excited pink. It glistens with your juices, your arousal shining against his skin.

It's then you realize he's not wearing a condom, not anymore. That's what that sound was.

"Xavier—nnngh…" you whimper with nervous eyes. Xavier moans at the sound of his name finally leaving your lips, "T-The condom?"

Xavier freezes for a fraction of a second before pounding into you again, as if trying to fuck that realization out of you. Among all his manipulative transgression, that might've been the worst.

"I-I couldn't help it," he whispers, kissing your shoulder in apology, his voice sweet and small—burying his guilty expression in your neck, "I needed to feel you. It was my only chance."

Only chance.

That notion tastes bitter on your tongue.

"Forgive me," he groans, his fingers digging deeply into you, holding you in place. His frenzied thrusts are almost brutal, overwhelming you entirely.

"Mmnngh…I'll take c-care of you. If something happens."

You groan at that, the thought invading you viciously. It almost sounded like he wanted something to happen.

"You will?" you whimper, arching as his hits that deep sensitive sweet spot. With his big hands, he supports you—holding you with one and while the other brackets your head.

Xavier's azure eyes darken as he nods, "Yes. Mine. You're mine."

Your stomach churns excitedly at his possessive declaration, ready to snap—your impending orgasm growing to painful heights.

"G-Gonna cum," you whimper, holding his face with both your hands. He chokes, sweat starting to drip down his temple.

"Y-Yes," he groans, whispering your name, "Please."

You pull his face closer, fervently mashing your lips to his as his excitement reaches a fever pitch, the bed frame colliding repeatedly with the wall.

Xavier's eyes are hazy when he pulls away, hooded with indescribable emotions.

"Say my name," he demands, almost aggressively, "I want to hear it."

Now that he doesn't have to hide himself, he's desperate to hear you cry for him. Not for whichever random hunter you thought you'd been paired up with.

Him. His name. His touch. His cock.

"Ah—unghhh…X-Xavier!" you moan, squealing when he captures your nipple in his lips—sucking aggressively, your toes curly as your climax looms over you.

"A-Again," he murmurs, words shaky against your breasts, sucking pretty little hickeys into your skin—his own orgasm ready to ravage him.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, rhythm faltering—messy and uncoordinated, "Tell me you'll let me fill you up."

You nod without thinking, not being able to fathom the thought of him pulling out—wanting to feel his warmth. As you descend into the depths of your orgasm, you beg, "Nnngh….P-Please Xavier. I-I want it."

Xavier shudders, his bright blue eyes beholding you before he kisses you again—his urgent tongue invading your mouth and swallowing your orgasmic cries.

He slides his forearm under your neck, lifting you slightly off the bed while using his free hand to grip the headboard. Not even a hair could fit between you, your bodies melded together tightly as you came together.

"F-Fuck," he gasps, "T-Take it. Take it all."

His hips continue to roll as he pumps you full of his thick hot seed, your cunt convulsing frantically against his throbbing erection—still solid as he pulls away to breath, crying your name repeatedly.

"Oh, Xavier—that was…" you whimper, your thighs trembling uncontrollably—aching in protest to Xavier's heavy body still pushing them apart. Xavier groans at your whimper, his cock twitching—spurting another rivulet of his spend against your tight gummy walls.

"I like it when you say my name," he whispers, collapsing onto you and catching himself on his elbows, "Say it again."

You chuckle, purposely drawling his name, voice silky and playful, "Xavier."

He makes a sound halfway between a growl and a groan, holding you tighter. You giggle as he rolls onto his side, taking you with him so he doesn't slip out—desperate to prolong this moment for as long as he can. He glances at the clock. It reads 18:47.

Sure, he could find ways to manipulate the system—like he'd done with the cameras and motion sensors, but there would more than likely be another session after theirs. It wouldn't be long before a cleaning crew was knocking on the pod doors—kicking them out.

He's snapped out of his thoughts when you speak softly, finally voicing your confusion, "Xavier? How did you…I thought the program specifically prohibits…"

Xavier avoids eye contact, trying to choose his words as carefully as possible, "I…I made it happen. Don't worry about it."

You look up curiously at him, "So…what? We get each other this one time and then next time it's someone else? And we just go back to being mission partners?"

He stiffens noticeably, his grip tightening around you, "No. Not someone else."

The thought of that makes Xavier nauseous. Knowing what you'd done today—experiencing it—and then imagining you being paired with anyone else? No. He'd never let that happen.

Honestly, he hadn't thought this far.

"I-I'll take care of it. I…I know someone on the matchmaking algorithms team. And the cameras are easy enough to interfere with. Same with the motion sensors. We just need to make sure we pick the same session times and—"

You take his face into your hands again. His eyes widen with surprise, cheeks reddening as he registers how close you are—how close you still are.

"Or you can just ask me out to dinner."

Xavier pauses, the weight of your words settling on him. Right. Personal relationships exempted hunters from the intimacy therapy program.

Personal relationship.

He wanted that. With you.

Clearing his throat, Xavier smiles sheepishly. It felt absurd. He could physically feel his cock still plugging you up with his release, white streaks dripping down your thighs. All the while, talking about taking you out officially for the first time.

"Right. Will you please go to dinner with me?"

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. the dividers in this post are by @/cursed-carmine. please do not reuse my usual blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[sylvieisoffline]

AAAAAAAA